


Darkest Before The Dawn

by mywishingglass



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A mix of book and show plots, Actually it's more realistic Jon in a way, Also Dark Jon, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Aunt/Nephew Incest, Dark Daenerys Targaryen, Dark Jon Snow, Dark kinky sex because y'all already know it's coming, F/M, Fix-It, Fuck subverted tropes, Game of Thrones Season 6 and 7 fix it, Incest, Jonerys, Might as well go ham, Not My Game of Thrones, Political Alliances, Political Marriage, Post Season 6, Retcon, Violence, Well some retcons of some characters and storylines, You wanted a Dark Daenerys full of fire and fury, because coming back from the dead, fix it fics, fuck dave and dan, fuck season 8, fuck shock value, here you go, ill show you fucking shock value, shouldnt turn you into a plank of deadwood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-03-08 00:13:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 95,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18884170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywishingglass/pseuds/mywishingglass
Summary: Daenerys Targaryen reclaims the Seven Kingdoms when she lands in Westeros. Jon Snow is King in the North. The Lannisters are overthrown, but are they gone for good? And what of the threat that grows beyond the Wall?A political alliance might be the only thing that could prevent the country from descending into chaos and bloodshed."The best way to make alliances is with marriage." - Because unlike D&D, I understand callbacks and know how to use it.Non-canon compliant after Season 6, with a few retconned characters and storylines.Dark!Jonerys fics will be the one sole saving grace of this ass of a season ending, so here is my contribution.





	1. Good, Decent and Honorable

**Author's Note:**

> A dark!Fix-It fic for Seasons 7 and 8 because damn it we deserve it! Pro-tip: Smut is in Chapter 5. 
> 
> I would like to publicly acknowledge that I do not and will not ever accept Season 8 as canon.
> 
> A note on "dark" characters taken from this site: http://critiquesisterscorner.blogspot.com/2013/02/writing-dark-side.html
> 
> "What does seem to be true, whatever the character or personality, is that darkness is most often the result of betrayal (large or small).  
> ...  
> There's something our character wants, something he desperately needs. When he sees the opportunity to grasp it he does so, and damn the consequences. Maybe it's love at any cost, or revenge, or power. Maybe it's safety, which he can get by remaining silent in a volatile situation. Maybe it's to be revered by others. We all want and need something like these things sometime. It's part of being human. But our character's need is ramped up. The stakes are high. When he reaches out to grasp what he wants, there's a little voice telling him that there has to be a better way—it is wrong to get it this way. That voice comes from his deepest self, but it is silenced by the need. The character takes what he needs in spite of the warning from deep within.
> 
> A deeply conflicted character can only exist in someone who is aware of and in touch with his deepest self and knows the purity that existed there, then behaves in a way that is contradictory to that knowledge. That is self-betrayal. And you know it's going to come back to bite. A shadow begins to grow.
> 
> Voilà. The inner conflict. The complexity. The dark side."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Tyrion give exposition. Ghost gets the affection he deserves. Jon broods. Dany threatens. Sansa and Tyrion wonder what they did to deserve being advisors to two difficult monarchs.

 

* * *

SANSA

A cloud of white mist emerged from her lips as she breathed out and stared up at the clear, night sky. The moon was a sickly yellow crescent against the dark azure firmament.

 _Clear nights are always colder…_ Sansa thought as she pulled her fur-lined cloak more tightly around her, holding fistfuls of the heavy garment as she walked through the army encampment. Her heavy boots trekking over frozen mud and frost-covered grass.

It had been almost a fortnight since their armies had left Winterfell. The journey was slow and cumbersome due to the winter snows that came down almost everyday. Though once they had travelled south of Moat Cailin, the blizzards were less frequent and more bearable, and occasionally, they had a clear night like tonight. Although, the cold did not abate.

_Winter is here after all…_

Sansa surmised that they were probably just a day or two away from The Twins, if the weather holds up.

_I have nothing to fear now. The Freys are all dead and gone and my Uncle Edmure has retaken the Riverlands._

Her sky-blue eyes looked more cobalt in the darkness of night as she scanned the area for her half-brother’s tent. She noted a wide variety of Northern banners flying over a multitude of tent posts… the black battle axes of the Cerwyns, the green Manderly mermen, the Mormont bears and the silver Glover gauntlets among others.

After a moment, her gaze finally located the white direwolf banners atop a large grey marquee.

Sansa made her way towards the front entrance of the pavilion. Two Stark men stood guard on either side of the tent flaps. Seeing her approach, the two soldiers automatically reached for the hilt of their swords but stopped when Sansa pulled down her fur hood, revealing her bright auburn hair. The Tully red, some would say.

“Lady Sansa.” One of the soldiers acknowledged, bowing his head respectfully.

Sansa gave a small nod, “Has the King in the North retired for the night?”

“He sits by the fire with his direwolf, m’lady.” The other soldier answered her.

“I see. Then I shall have some words with my brother before he does.”

“Of course m'lady.” Answered the first soldier as he pulled the tent flap aside to allow Sansa to pass through.

Sansa held her head high as she picked up her skirts and ducked her head slightly as she entered her half-brother's quarters.

As indicated by the soldier, seated on a low chair by a small fire was the King in the North. His hand softly and absentmindedly running through the thick white coat of his direwolf who lay by his side.

Ghost picked up his head and turned towards her as she walked further in. The direwolf stared up at her with his red eyes but the man in the chair remained unmoved.

Sansa slowly removed her fur gloves as she looked around the tent. A small bed covered in furs was situated in a corner. In the middle of the room was a large wooden square table upon which were candles, maps, pieces of parchment and various scrolls. Lying forgotten on the far corner of the table was a bowl of half-eaten stew that was probably stone cold by now.

“You’re still not eating well?” Sansa ventured to ask as she dropped her gloves next to his bowl.

The man gave no response. All Sansa could see of him in the dim light was the back of his dark brown hair partially tied in a knot behind his head and a heavy wolf pelt draped over his shoulder.

Sansa sighed as she walked towards the fire and gazed down at her brother.

“Jon?”

When she spoke his name, he very slowly moved his dark grey eyes up to meet hers. Sansa could see the markings of a scar that ran from his temple to the side of his right cheek. A small memento of the battle they had fought over a month ago for their home. The battle famously known throughout Westeros as “The Battle of the Bastards".

Sansa had always known Jon to be a quiet, sullen-faced man. Even when they were children, he mostly kept to himself. Her mother tried her best to keep him apart from her own true born children but all of Sansa's brothers and her sister Arya loved Jon.

 _I was the only one who did as my lady mother commanded_ Sansa thought, _I never shared a single word with him. I called him a bastard. I didn’t even want to look at him. When he picked up a doll I accidentally dropped on my way to the courtyard, I didn’t thank him. When he greeted me on my name day, I pretended his words were air. When he didn’t take his share of the lemon cakes from the platter because he knew they were my favorite, I cared not._

But all that changed since the day she escaped from Winterfell and Ramsay Bolton. Her lord father was dead. Her lady mother was dead. Robb and Rickon were also dead, Arya and Bran might be too.

_Now Jon is all the family I have left._

It seemed almost comical, the irony of it all.

But when she found Jon again. He was not the same brooding boy who left Winterfell. He didn’t even know what to do when she had embraced him and cried with relief on his shoulder.

That night, and every night since they had left Castle Black, Sansa noticed a different kind of silence around her brother. It was the silence of crypts and graveyards at the hour of the wolf. Eerie, hollow and foreboding.

Sansa didn’t blame him in the least. After all, it’s not a common thing to be brought back from the dead. The unnamed terrors he must have felt when his soul departed only to be wrenched back to life.

Death changes people, the living more than the actual dead… and Jon Snow had been both.

It was said that he himself beheaded all of his sworn brothers who had a hand in his murder, including a young boy named Olly.

Sansa didn’t believe Jon was capable of such merciless executions until she saw the way he had beaten Ramsay Bolton to the ground at the Battle of the Bastards. His fists unrelenting, even as she asked him to stop but Jon kept going until he had broken every bone in Ramsay's face.

_I wanted to feed Ramsay to his hounds but Jon had other ideas._

Jon had Ramsay stripped naked and tied upside down on an X-shaped cross just like the flayed man in the Bolton's sigil. Only Jon didn’t want Ramsay flayed or fed to his own hounds.

 _It’s not the Stark way. Father always said, our way is the old way._ That’s what Jon told her. He didn’t permit her anywhere near Ramsay so Sansa could only watch as they dragged the broken man out of Winterfell.

 Jon had the cross placed in the fields next to the Wolfswood. He tied Ramsay to the beams himself. The next day, it was discovered that Ramsay’s body had been torn apart by wolves. She wished she could have been there to see.

 _He's not the brother you remember,_ Ser Davos Seaworth warned.

But that wasn’t entirely true. Jon had promised he would protect her. He listened to her when Sansa gave him advice on how to rally the Lords of the North. He allowed her to seek aid from the Vale even though he would sooner see Littlefinger consumed by wolves than ally with him.

_I’m no longer the sister he remembers either. Not after everything that’s happened. He at least gives me a chance to advise him. That’s more than I deserve given how I treated him when we were younger._

But it had been more than a week since she had a decent conversation with her brother and when they had last spoken at Winterfell, they had been arguing loudly.

_“The Mad King's daughter, Sansa? What were you possibly thinking?”_

_“I was thinking about our family, Jon, about the North and its allies. Daenerys has taken King's Landing. She has Dorne, the Iron Islands and Highgarden behind her. She has two foreign armies protecting her. She has three dragons! We can’t win a fight against her and I don’t plan on giving up what we have just won!”_

_“And your solution would be to have me marry her?”_

_“Unless you have a better idea, then yes, that is the only reasonable choice we have if we want to save the North!”_

Sansa sat on a stool by the fire, her fingers clasped together as she faced her brother. The heated voices from their last exchange echoing in her mind.

“Are you still angry with me?” She asked In a quiet voice.

At this question, Jon's gaze softened, “No. Of course not. Why would I be angry with you?”

Sansa didn’t believe him as she gave him a sharp look. Jon, realizing his sister had seen right through him, exhaled through his nostrils and turned his eyes back towards the cackling fire.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I know this arrangement is on your mind. I know you’re not happy about it.”

“What part of marrying Daenerys Targaryen should I be happy about?” He questioned, a distinctive growl in his voice as he glared at her.

Sansa glared back. They were at it again.

“The part where we get her armies, her dragons and the entire bloody Seven Kingdoms as our allies!” Sansa countered, “Do you think I want to go back to King's Landing after everything that's happened to me? Do you think I want to march our armies south, away from the Wall and away from protecting the North?”

Jon didn’t answer. A shadow of a snarl on his lips as he grunted and shifted in his seat.

Sansa held her fingers tightly together to keep her anger in check.

_It won’t do to argue again, but he needs to understand._

“The dead are coming.” Jon murmured, “My path has always led me North. Always North.”

Sansa took a slow, measured breath. It seemed to her that death had not completely released him. Even alive, death continued to haunt him.

Sansa hesitated but then she reached over and grabbed his hand which was resting on the arm of his chair. She had done a similar thing when she had asked her brother to fight for their home, and now she was going to do it again.

“Do you trust me, Jon?” Sansa asked, her piercing blue eyes focused and stern.

Jon looked up at her, there was a flicker in his stare, and in those steel grey eyes, Sansa found a hint of the brother she knew from her childhood.

“Sansa, you’re my sister. If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Then listen to me, please. I know how hard this is for you but you have to believe me when I say that despite this being one of the few, difficult choices to make, it’s the right one.” Sansa urged.

Jon took a moment to contemplate Sansa's words and then he nodded.

“If it makes you feel any better, there is no one else who can understand this situation better than I. You’re not the first to be forced into a marriage with our enemies. I pray a Targaryen would at least be more bearable than a Lannister or a Bolton.” Sansa added with a small, sad smile.

She saw the look of remorse cross her brother's eyes as he then leaned forward holding Sansa's hand in both of his own.

“The Lannisters and Boltons are gone. I swore by all the gods and by our father that I would protect you. If this is what I have to do to see it done, I’ll do it.”

Sansa bowed her head, satisfied and relieved that they had finally reached common ground. Jon released her hand and leaned back on his chair.

“Not all the Lannisters are gone, you know.  They say Cersei and Ser Jaime escaped and are in hiding. Tyrion Lannister is still alive as well.” Sansa corrected.

“Aye and Hand to the Queen no less.” Jon added, his lips pressed together, “Do you trust him?”

Sansa gave the question a thought before she answered, “He was never cruel to me. He tried his best to look after me. He even kept his distance on our wedding night. I don’t think he means us any harm.”

Jon didn’t seem entirely convinced as he returned his gaze to the fire.

“Still, I don’t think it was wise of us to take most of our armies south to meet the Dragon Queen and leave Winterfell in the hands of Lord Baelish of all people.”

“It’s never wise to trust a man like Littlefinger,” Sansa stated as she tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear, “But he's Lord Regent of the Vale until my cousin Robin comes of age and the Knights of the Vale answer to him. As much as I hate to admit it, we need him.”

“He could be plotting against us in our own home.” Jon pointed out.

“I'd rather he be plotting in the North surrounded by those loyal to us than in the South where his true strength lies.” Sansa responded with an air of one who had already thought the matter quite thoroughly, “In any case, it is only right that I be at King's Landing to present you to the Queen herself. It would be unseemly for a King to broker his own marriage. Once she sees the full extent of our forces, she’ll be convinced that a marriage alliance would be the only way for her to secure our allegiance without ruining the country in another civil war.”

Sansa paused and then continued, “And don’t worry about Littlefinger. He's not the only one with spies in the North.”

A look of admiration came upon Jon's face. Though it slowly reverted back to his brooding expression as he said in a somber voice, “It makes me wonder why you did not try to press a claim in being Queen in the North. The crown would probably rest easier on your head than mine... and you’re the last true-born Stark.”

“We don’t know that. Bran or Arya could still be alive and out there somewhere in the world.” Sansa responded.

“Perhaps. But we haven’t heard from either of them in years.”

Sansa shook her head, “The people of the North pledged their swords to you. I don’t care what you say, Jon, but you’re as much Father’s son as I am his daughter. You’re a good leader. We wouldn’t have been able to win the battle for our home without you.”

“You brought the Knights of the Vale to fight with us. Without them, we would have lost that battle.” Jon stated, “We also have the Riverlands on our side because of your Uncle Edmure. You’re as much a reason for our victory than I.”

Sansa merely sighed in answer to him as she closed her eyes and turned her head away.

“When I was a little girl, I wanted nothing more than to be Queen. I longed for it for so many years. When King Robert told Father about marrying me to Joffrey, I thought all my hopes and dreams had come true.” Sansa felt an ache in her chest at the memory, “Everything’s that’s happened since then... I want nothing more than to take it all back. But I don’t want to be Queen, Jon. I just want to be home, safe and protected, with my family.”

“I know, Sansa, I want that too.”

She felt completely drained all of a sudden. It was late. They were miles from home and there were many more miles still left to travel.

“We should probably get some sleep. It’s a long road to King’s Landing and once we pass the Riverlands, we’ll be in her territory.” Sansa said as she stood up.

Jon stood up as well, “Aye.”

After an awkward hesitation, Jon leaned forward to give his sister a small kiss on her forehead and whispered, “Good night, Lady Stark.”

Sansa nodded and gave him another small smile, “Good night, Your Grace.”

“I’ll have Ghost accompany you to your tent.” Jon said as he moved towards the entrance of the tent and held the flap open for her. Sansa retrieved her fur gloves from the table and quickly tugged them back on.

“Jon, you don’t have--”

“I won’t take no for an answer.” He stated with finality.

Realizing she was too tired to argue, Sansa lowered her head as she exited her brother’s quarters and the white direwolf followed closely at her heels.

The warmth she felt from the fire in the tent quickly dissipated as she stepped back out into the bitter cold of the evening. Sansa pulled her fur hood over her head as she passed the two soldiers standing guard outside her brother's pavilion.

As she made her way back to her tent, she could scarcely hear Ghost as he padded along beside her even though the direwolf was five times larger than Ramsay's largest hounds. If he would stand on his hind legs, Sansa was sure Ghost would tower over her easily.

Sansa couldn’t help but smile as she walked through the encampment with Ghost. It brought back memories of walking with Lady around the Baratheon camp during the time when she travelled south with her lord father.

 _Would Lady be about your size now if she survived?_ Sansa thought as she looked at Ghost.

_Here I am, travelling south to King's Landing once more. Only I’m no longer a naïve little girl. I’m a woman grown, the Lady of Winterfell._

A cold shiver ran down Sansa's spine. She wasn’t sure if it was due to the icy night wind or to the nostalgia of travelling south once again.

_I spent so much time wishing for home. Now that I have it, I leave it once more. When will I ever learn that the south brings only death to the Starks?_

But Sansa knew that she had a purpose to fulfill.

_The North would never be safe while Daenerys Targaryen is Queen. Jon is our one chance to secure the Northern lands._

With wildlings, Northmen, the Vale and the Riverlands on their side, Sansa knew there was a chance to keep the North out of southern affairs forever.

_But that would mean leaving Jon at King's Landing._

Sansa’s eyebrows furrowed.

_Yet, Jon would be of better use to us as consort to the Targaryen Queen. He could advocate for the North functioning as an independent kingdom of the realm, more ally than subject. The Queen would initially object to it, but perhaps Jon can convince her otherwise._

Then Sansa remembered Jon's constant obsession with the Others beyond the Wall.

She cursed under her breath. The Queen might not be too keen if she heard her brother talk about the threat beyond. She hoped for all their sakes that Jon would mind his words when they reached King's Landing. He was having a hard enough time as it is convincing the Northern lords of the White Walkers and the army of dead men, Sansa didn’t want to think about what the Queen would say to that.

Sansa looked up, realizing she had reached her tent. The two men who guarded her tent pulled aside her tent flap for her to pass through.

Grateful to be back in her own space, she realized that Ghost had entered the tent with her and he looked up at her with his ruby-red eyes, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air.

She crouched down and caressed his furry neck, “You can go now, Ghost. I’ll be fine.”

But the direwolf made no move to leave her, instead he nudged his snout against her hand.

Sansa giggled, “If you must insist, then you’re staying on the floor. I don’t think my bed can carry the both of us.”

Her eyes then landed on her writing desk, upon which an unfinished letter lay next to a quill and a bottle of ink.

_Perhaps my night is not yet over. There’s still so much I have to do._

Removing her outer cloak, Sansa sat on a chair by her desk and immediately set to work on completing her letter as Ghost curled up by the side of her feet.

* * *

TYRION

“That will be all for tonight. Thank you, my lords, and my ladies.” The Queen declared as she rose from her chair, both her hands resting on the oaken table.

The men and women around the table stood as well, all bowing reverently to their Queen.

Lady Asha of House Greyjoy, the Master of Ships, was the first to leave the room. She was quickly followed by Lady Olenna Tyrell, the Master of Coin, who gave a short quip to Lord Varys, the Master of Whisperers as they disappeared through the doorway.

Missandei of Naath, the Queen’s handmaiden and Essosi ambassador was exchanging quiet pleasantries with Princess Arianne Martell, the newly crowned Princess of Dorne, before the Princess excused herself and left the Small Council Chambers.

Standing behind her were her three commanders and sworn shields: Ser Barristan Selmy, the Lord Commander of her Queensguard; _Turgon Nudha_ , GreyWorm in the Common tongue, was the Commander of the Unsullied army; and, finally, her bloodrider Qhono who she named ‘The _Ko_ of the Dragon’, Commander of her _khalasar_.

The Queen had replaced the gold armour and white cloaks of her Queensguard with black steel and blood-red cloaks befitting her Targaryen lineage. Ser Barristan, though much older in age than when he was first made a Kingsguard, stood an imposing figure beside the Queen. Both GreyWorm and Qhono were also clad in black, the Unsullied commander in black leather and armour with a silver dragon embossed on his chest plate while the Dothraki wore furs dyed in black ink, the tips were the rusty red color of dried blood.

At the other end of the Small Council Table stood Tyrion Lannister, the Hand of the Queen, silenting observing the departures of each member of the Small Council.

He had to smirk to himself secretly.

 _If only Father could see this now. All his enemies, and more, in the room where he once reigned supreme. And I, his dwarf son, the Hand of the Queen to the daughter of the King he betrayed._  

Tyrion walked languidly towards a small table upon which sat a tall pitcher of Dornish Red and a number of golden goblets.

“My Lord Hand, a word, if you are not otherwise occupied.” The Queen stated as she sat back down on her chair.

As he filled his cup, Tyrion nodded without looking up at her, “Of course, Your Grace.”

“Ser Barristan, you may leave me.” The Queen commanded as her arms rested on the sides of her chair.

The knight gave pause, casting a suspicious glance towards the Lannister dwarf but he bowed his head obediently, “As you command, Your Grace.”

His eyes stayed on Tyrion as he moved past him.

“ _Ao hae sȳrī, Turgon Nudha. Yn umbagon va. {You as well, Grey Worm but stay close.}”_ said the Queen in High Valyrian. Unlike his Westerosi counterpart, there was no pause in the Unsullied Commander’s action as he followed his Queen’s orders. Missandei took this as a sign to leave as well and she followed behind Greyworm out the door.

The Queen then turned her head towards Qhono, “ _Qoy anni qoy, elat akka tihat tat khalasar. Jadat tat anna fin hazze hash oji.[Blood of my blood, see to the khalasar. Come to me if anything goes wrong.]”_

 _“Sek, Khaleesi.[Yes, my Queen.]_ ” Came his grunt response.

It always amazed Tyrion how his Queen could alternate effortlessly between each language. Her voice was as naturally suited to the silken timbre of High Valyrian as it was to the guttural harshness of Dothraki words and the measured tones of the Common Tongue. Tyrion’s own fluency in Dothraki and Valyrian were still quite crude despite the many months he had spent in Essos. But he could comprehend better than he could speak.

With her commanders had gone, Tyrion was finally alone with Daenerys Targaryen, the Dragon Queen.

As Tyrion observed his young Queen, he thought that he would probably have been infatuated with her without a second thought if he had met her in his younger years. Her waist length silver hair was gathered in intricate braids intertwined with red silk ribbons down her back. She was clad in a long-sleeved dark burgundy gown, a three headed dragon brooch pinned on the left lapel of her collar. Her satin brocade cape was an even darker shade of red, trimmed with black sable fur. On her head rested her crown, a broad silver circlet adorned with blood-red rubies, black opals and elaborate metal etching that mimicked the rippling of dragon scales. Every inch of her embodying the dark and fiery spirit of her House, which Tyrion thought with some degree of pity, after all, she was the last Targaryen alive.

_She was probably no older than twenty, yet she carried herself with the gravitas of someone twice or even thrice her age._

“Have the silver cloaks located your brother and sister yet?” The Queen asked.

Tyrion shook his head slowly, “No, Your Grace. However, there is still much of the city left to search.”

Like the Queensguard, Daenerys had the men of the City Watch exchange their dusty gold cloaks for silver silk ones, emblazoned with the Targaryen sigil. The silver cloaks to match the Queen's silver hair.

 _Gold may be worth more but silver… silver was the mount I rode on the Dothraki Sea, silver was what bought me my first ship from Qarth and silver is the color of the moon from which it was said birthed the first dragons._ Tyrion recalled his Queen saying as she bade every soldier of the City Watch to rend his gold cloak and cast it into a great bonfire that raged in the city square.

“Double their number then.” She seethed, “I want Cersei Lannister and her Kingslayer lover rooted out from whatever hellhole they are hiding in. I want them brought before me so I can watch them burn for the traitors they are.”

“I’ll be sure to let Ser Bronn see to it at once.” Tyrion said as he took a long drink from his cup, wishing the alcohol could burn away the anxiety growing at the pit of his stomach.

His Queen was a harsh woman, Tyrion thought, her ruthlessness growing wilder since the day they reached Westeros. But this was hardly surprising, Daenerys was a Targaryen after all, the Mad King's Daughter. She was already an adept executioner when he found her in Meereen. Crucified slave masters rotting in the hot sun, slave markets and barracks burnt to cinders and Essosi nobility chained to posts outside the pyramid. It was quite a sight.

When he had finally convinced her to sail west in order to take back the Seven Kingdoms, Tyrion wondered if he had backed the wrong horse.

Daenerys Stormborn wasn’t the frightened little beggar Princess that the rumours claimed she was when he was still Joffrey's Hand of the King. When her dragons were born, she easily commandeered her dead husband's _khalasar_ leading them to plague and pillage various cities in Essos including Qarth, Yunkai and Astapor where she took her Unsullied army. Her dragons, though quite little at the time, still had the power to roast a hundred slave Masters alive.

She named herself Queen of Meereen and that’s who she was when he found her.

It was a miracle she did not execute him on the spot. Tyrion, as always, had managed to talk his way out of another trial. After all, he had killed more Lannisters than she ever did.

 _All I have to do now is prove I can kill two more_ , Tyrion thought.

He, of course, had Lord Varys to thank as well. Having the Spider vouch for him was a fortuitous boon.

The Spider had a much harder time convincing the Queen of his own loyalties but had proven himself when he brought to her the allegiances of three Westerosi allies: The Iron Islands, Dorne and Highgarden – all led by three powerful women.

Once they landed on Dragonstone, Daenerys wasted no time in planning her siege of King's Landing. The very next day, they attacked.

Tyrion knew that Cersei didn’t stand a chance. Despite allying herself with Euron Greyjoy's infamous Iron Fleet, his ships were no match against three full-grown dragons. Tyrion remembered the sight of a thousand ships aflame with dragonfire on the Blackwater. It was not so dissimilar to when he had burned Stannis Baratheon's ships  in the same bay many years ago. Except wildfire burned green whereas dragonfire… dragonfire was hot red and its’ flames lasted for days.

When they had successfully taken King's Landing, Cersei and Jaime had long fled along with her Hand Qyburn and his monstrous creation Ser Robert Strong. His sister's last command was to light the wildfire caches hidden underneath the city by the Mad King. Tens of thousands were dead, the city was in ashes and the Red Keep partially destroyed.

Daenerys was enraged but undaunted. She commanded her Unsullied to take Casterly Rock while her Dothraki ravaged the Westerlands. But his siblings were nowhere to be found.

“You best pray we find them soon or you’ll be finding yourself at the stake in their stead.” She glowered.

Tyrion had heard her threats before. But his Dragon Queen was always more roar and less bite. Though on occasion, she did follow through with those threats, so he always treaded carefully when she was in a mood.

“Believe me, Your Grace, I want them found just as much as you do.” Tyrion answered in an almost bored voice.

“Your enthusiasm says otherwise.” The Queen said through gritted teeth.

It was time to change the subject else his Queen would start getting other more deadly ideas in her mind. Daario Naharis was no longer here to distract her with his flowery words and insatiable cock. Tyrion hummed to himself, maybe leaving the Stormcrow captain behind was a mistake. Despite his distaste for the sellsword, the captain, at least, knew how to keep the Queen entertained. She was less likely to resort to fire and blood when she had an amusing enough plaything to sate her desires.

“I will double the guards on patrol, as you command. In the meantime, we must look to the restructuring and stabilization of the city. There are positions in the small council that still need to be filled. We require a Grand Maester and a Master of Laws to oversee the City Watch.” Tyrion pointed out.

“What need have I of them?” Daenerys asked as she leaned back on her chair, “Ser Bronn is capable enough to lead the silver cloaks and I can see no use for another old man in chains who stinks of piss and sour milk.”

“Ser Bronn is a sellsword, Your Grace. Given your experience with sellswords, I assure you he is not unlike the others. His idea of justice rests more in the weight of gold than in the balancing of the scales.” Tyrion explained in a calm voice, “The Citadel will be sending us a new Grand Maester within the week anyway, as Your Grace will most surely be in need of a healer and a scholar’s counsel in repairing this city.”

Daenerys tightened her grip on the chair’s arm, an irked snarl on her lips.

Tyrion had to hide his smug smile behind his goblet because he knew that she had no valid arguments against his reasoning.

“I shall see to the Citadel’s recommendations myself, if that would ease your mind, and I will be sure to ask that their candidate is one befitting Your Grace’s small council… and odor requirements.” Tyrion commented with a sly smile.

His jest seemed to relax his Queen as she allowed herself a small smirk.

“You are a funny man, my Lord Hand.” She commented, “I never thought you to be as bold as you are clever. Your plan in taking Casterly Rock gave us a great victory, even I was surprised at the ruthlessness you’ve shown in conquering your own home.”

Tyrion lifted his cup towards her, “I live to serve you, my Queen.”

“We shall see.” She stated, though her tone had lessened in its severity.

His goblet was nearly empty and Tyrion wondered if it was time for him to take his leave but it seemed that his Queen had not yet finished with him.

Her face darkened as she said, “One thing I can say with certainty is that you are a man true to his word. You told me to leave my captain behind in Essos to free myself to the possibility of an alliance through marriage. Lo and behold, the moment I reach Westeros, I find a proposal already lined up and waiting.”

Tyrion shrugged, “The best way to make alliances is with marriage.”

“Yes, I remember that.” She responded, her lips tightening, “Was that something that you came up with yourself or did your former wife pass that phrase on to you when she proposed a marriage with her bastard brother?”

Tyrion sighed, he knew this was conversation was bound to come up again, “Your Grace, bastard that he may be, Jon Snow is King in the North. Lady Sansa has the Vale and the Riverlands declare their allegiance for House Stark. All the Northern Houses as well. Jon Snow also has the support of over five thousand wildlings, including giants if the reports are to be believed, that he brought south of the Wall.”

“Traitors, all of them.” Daenerys hissed, “I will burn their holdfasts and keeps to the ground if that’s what it takes for them to bend the knee.”

Tyrion could feel his fist clenching involuntarily around the stem of his goblet.

“We talked about this.”

Wrong answer. He could see the fire blazing in her amethyst eyes.

“My ancestors used their dragons to make the old kings submit to them when they conquered the Seven Kingdoms. The Arryns, Tullys and Starks would be smart to follow in their own ancestors’ footsteps if they want to live. What’s to stop me from taking Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal north right now?”

“Nothing, Your Grace. Absolutely nothing.” Tyrion responded, though he had to pick his next words carefully, “I know you care not about being Queen of the ashes as long as you are Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but there won’t be Seven Kingdoms to rule if you burn those Kingdoms down.”

Tyrion sighed, “Look at it this way, my Queen. You were not responsible for the destruction of this city and its people, that we can easily credit to the vile insanity of my dear sister. But you were able to take this city with minimal innocent casualties. The people you freed in Essos saw you as a savior, the Breaker of Chains. In time, the people of Westeros will look at you the same way.”

The Queen considered her Hand’s words as he spoke. She pushed her chair back and walked towards the windowsill, crossing her arms as she gazed out on to her ravaged city.

“Give the King in the North a chance. I knew the boy when I travelled to Winterfell many years ago. He’s a good, decent and honorable lad.”

“I have no use for any of those things.” She grumbled, “What has ‘good, decent and honorable’ ever brought me? Nothing! I spent more than half my life running from those who sought to kill me and destroy everything that has ever mattered to me. I’ve been starved, beaten, chained, betrayed and brutalized. My brothers, my husbands, and my son are all dead and I’ve seen many more die so that I might live. Do you think I would have survived it all if I had been ‘good and decent’? Decency did not feed me in the Red Waste, goodness did not give freedom to those in bondage, and honor certainly did not birth my dragons.”

She turned to face Tyrion, her voice clear and steadfast, “I did it. It was all me. I vowed that I would suffer it all, that I would endure because I needed to take back what was stolen from me. My dragons are fire made flesh and so am I. They called Rhaegar, ‘the last dragon’ and Viserys, ‘the beggar king’ but I am no beggar and Rhaegar was not the last dragon. I promised I would rain down fire and blood upon my enemies and that is what I will do.”

Tyrion decided to call her bluff, “And will you, Your Grace? Your battles are already won. Your enemies are nearly all defeated. You are Queen. But even a Queen is duty-bound to the legacy of her reign. What would you want your legacy to be? Shall you be the ‘Queen-who-rained-hellfire-because-she-didn’t-want-to-marry-a-stubborn-Northerner’? Or would you like to be something more?”

This gave Daenerys pause and Tyrion waited with bated breath.

After a few moments, the Queen frowned, grinding her teeth, and scoffing underneath her breath, she returned to her chair. Tyrion could almost see a faint pout linger on her lips.

 _Maybe she is still a young girl after all_.

Daenerys fidgeted with her fingers before she looked back up at Tyrion. To his surprise, she looked amused, “You learn quickly, my Lord Hand. It took Ser Jorah years before he could see through my veiled threats and sanctimonious speeches.”

 _She was playing with me._ Tyrion thought with mild irritation but he let the feeling pass quickly. Their repartee kept him on his toes and like a whetstone to a blade, it sharpened his wits.

He drained his cup finally and he smacked his lips as he set it down on the table.

“How far away is my betrothed?” She asked in a bored tone as she folded her hands together on the table.

“I was told that they have just passed the Trident, Your Grace. They should be here in a fortnight, if not sooner. I hear they’re bringing their full force with them. We should probably have a plan in place if things do not go our way.”

“We don’t need a plan. Our armies outmatch theirs easily. I doubt this Jon Snow, for all the talk of his swordsmanship, could best Grey Worm in a fight. I could also have Drogon set them all on fire outside the gates.” She gave him a confident smirk.

Tyrion inhaled, “I was speaking more about the alliance that your marriage would bring. We need Jon Snow to swear to us that those who follow him would be willing to submit to your authority as their Queen.”

“I am already their Queen.” Daenerys responded with a tilt of her head, “If they do not bend, they will burn.”

_This is probably as far as I am going to get with her tonight._

“So be it.” Tyrion conceded as he closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, “I only pray you grant your betrothed and his sister a proper audience with you before you do so.”

“Is that your way of saying good night to your Queen?” She challenged.

He grunted in response as he rubbed his eyes, “It is. It’s been a long day and we still have a country to look after and rebuild.”

His Queen hummed under her breath. Tyrion hoped that she wasn’t thinking of more ways to bait him into a debate.

“I will marry this Jon Snow.” The Queen stated, the tone of her voice a marked difference from when they had started talking, “I will see to it that my kingdom rises from the ashes that has covered it for centuries. If marrying this Northerner is what it will take to bring the dawn of my new age into this world, I will see it done.”

Tyrion’s relief could not have been more evident, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“I suppose we must part for now. You’ve shown yourself to be a competent advisor, my Lord Hand. I look forward to more fruitful conversations with you.” Daenerys sighed as she leaned back on her chair, her attention turned to the window, “You may go.”

Tyrion nodded, pushing back his chair, he stood up and bowed reverently to her, “Good night, my Queen.”

Grateful to be free to make his way to his bedroom where he could drink and think in peace, Tyrion started to make his way towards the door.

“One last thing.”

Tyrion grimaced without turning around.

“If I find out that you’ve been harboring your brother and sister all this time, be certain that my wrath against you will be as terrifying and agonizing as you can possibly imagine.”

“I do not doubt that, Your Grace.” He responded with moroseness as he quickly opened the door and exited the Small Council Chamber.

He exhaled audibly as he shut the door behind him. He noticed Greyworm was standing guard by the door. The Commander of the Unsullied had a hard, grim face as he glowered down at Tyrion.

Clearing his throat, Tyrion managed an awkward smile, “ _Emagon iā sȳz_ … erm… _bāneves. {Have a good…erm… heat.}_ ”

The Commander said nothing, though Tyrion saw the muscles of his jaw clench. He realized that his abhorrent Valyrian would not do him any more favors as he tipped his head and continued on his way down the dimly lit hallway.

Being back in the Red Keep brought Tyrion nothing but horrible memories. He was glad that the Tower of the Hand was one of the few fatalities of the castle brought about with Cersei's wildfire. He could never go back there. If he had to, he’d rather spend the night in the stables rather than the chamber where he had killed his lover… and his Father.

_Where do dead whores go?_

Tyrion was at least thankful that the long walk to his room was uneventful.

He finally reached his door. But just as his hand could turn the knob, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind him.

“Lord Hand of the Seven fucking Kingdoms.”

Tyrion groaned, “Go away. I’m tired and in no mood for your insufferable quips. I just want to drink myself to a stupor before doing it all over again tomorrow.”

Ser Bronn of the Blackwater crossed his arms and leaned against the door, “A good evening to you too.”

“What do you want? Just say it and leave me.” Tyrion snarled.

“Oof! A grumpy lion we are today.” Bronn chuckled, clearly unfazed by the Lord Hand's distemper.

But then the sellsword cleared his throat and said in a lower voice, “He's asking for you.”

“Who?”

“You know who.”

Tyrion's eyes immediately widened as he whispered with seething ferocity, “That fucking idiot! Why isn’t he on a fucking ship sailing for Pentos or Myr right now? You’re saying he’s still in the city? The Queen has just ordered the search efforts be doubled. He’s going to get them killed.”

“Oh, aye. He can’t hide for much longer which is why he's asking for you.” Bronn stated, giving Tyrion a knowing look, “And she won’t last a week on a ship. Not in her condition.”

Tyrion's brows furrowed, “What condition?”

Bronn sighed and shook his head, “That one-handed cunt didn’t even bother to tell you, did he?”

Tyrion felt his stomach twist and turn as the Captain of the City Watch laid a hand on his shoulder.

_This isn't going to be good..._

“Your sister is with child.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that there's a lot of hate for Sansa and Tyrion's characters especially in this last season. I do not think it should be that way though. These two are suppose to be our smart and clever protagonists who went through a lot of shitty times too. I am not here for petty, bitch Sansa or dumbed down Tyrion who can only look shocked and tell dick jokes.  
> So I'm dedicating this chapter to the Sansa and Tyrion that we deserve. 
> 
> For the record, Jon here may still be brood-y and obsessed with the White Walkers, but he was never dumb, stupid and naive.  
> Post-resurrection Jon will be darker, will have lost memories, will have more animalistic personalities and there will be a special connection with ghost. This Jon is not a full-on warg though, so I'm leaving that piece out (sorry for the Jon fans who like that bit, but I suck at writing high level fantasy). 
> 
> With Dany, I cranked her ruthlessness level to 1000 but she is not "mad" or "crazy", this is just how she deals with people. There will be a softness to her but it's all buried underneath layers of trauma and violence. She is just as smart and calculating but she likes to play with people, only because she knows they will constantly underestimate her. Also yes this is dark kinky Dany too. 
> 
> Also for the record, I am not the most book-knowledgeable person and I only have a surface understanding of GOT politics and medieval politics in general. I'm just going off other movies and books I've seen and read. Shoutout to the fanfic writers who do this part so well though! I'm inspired by your works! 
> 
> I initially wanted this chapter to be longer, but wanted to see what the reaction will be like before I continue. Also I'm using crappy English-Valyrian and English-Dothraki online translators so if I fuck up, I'm sorry hahaha. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Open to all sorts of comments and opinions as long as it is constructive and not hateful.


	2. Choose Your Next Words Carefully

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion has a secret meeting and gets super emotional. Jon struggles to keep his inner demons in check.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was initially longer with a few more POVS, but I've had decided to cut it in half since I need to work on the 2nd half a bit more. So this does mean a bit of a longer wait till Jon and Dany meet but I'll make sure it's good, friends, don't worry LOL.

* * *

TYRION

The major thoroughfares of King’s Landing were an unrecognizable sight. From what he remembered, the streets seemed to always be teeming with people. Soldiers, merchants, town folk, whores, children, noble lords, septons and more would be roaming through the streets. Taverns would be bursting with music and drunken bards. There would be a foul combination of stenches from the open sewers, the rotten food from the markets as well as the waste and refuge lining the city streets.

But now… now the streets were all but deserted save for a small troop of five or six silver cloaks that patrolled the area. Roads were closed off by rubble and there were craters in the earth where houses, shops and other buildings had once stood.

_Cersei truly wanted to leave Daenerys with nothing to rule over._

But the wildfire had not done the damage his sister wanted. There were survivors. Not all the homes and establishments were lost to the explosions.

With the gold and armies that Daenerys brought with her from Essos, they could rebuild and start again.

But King’s Landing would never be the same.

Tyrion observed his surroundings carefully as he pulled his brown, woolen hood closer to his face. Even though he knew that he was most likely being watched or followed, he ventured deeper into the city, passing through the narrowest of alleyways and slipping into the tightest corners that he could fit himself into. He kept his eyes on all directions, looking behind his back at every turn. He climbed over broken homes, scattered stones and toppled foundations.

Everywhere he went, he smelled the stench of rot and death. There were most likely dead bodies still festering underneath the debris. He made a note to ask the Queen for more men to clean up the city.

 _The silver cloaks won’t be enough. Perhaps when the Queen’s khalasar and Unsullied finish torching the Westerlands, they would return to help the Queen with the rehabilitation of the city_ , but even Tyrion snorted at the thought.

The Dothraki were not the type of people that helped others rebuild. They were warriors, nomads and they answered to no one… except the Dragon Queen. The Unsullied as well were killing machines. They knew nothing about building homes, giving comfort to the wounded or repairing the morale of a city torn apart.

But the Queen had other allies that were aiding the city. The Queen of Thorns and the Princess of Dorne at the forefront of the efforts to deliver food, clothing and treatment to the wounded and the ailing.

When Daenerys had landed, she also brought with her a faction of red priests and priestesses who followed Rh’llor, the Red God or the Lord of Light as they called him. Daenerys, they believed, was the foretold Messiah – the Princess who was Promised, the one who would bring the Dawn.

Tyrion noted that the Lord of Light’s message resonated with the broken people of King’s Landing as he passed a small group of people sitting at the feet of a red priestess as she preached before them.

 _Seems that the Red God will have a lot more prayers to answer before the city rises once more_.

Finally he reached a small house that was missing a roof. He could hear the sounds and grunts of two people fucking in the corner as he walked towards the door. Upon entering house, he realized that he had come to what looked like a make-shift brothel. Half-naked whores walked by him. Some with two or three men following them.

_Even when the city’s been reduced to nothing but ash, the whores still manages to find a way to earn a living._

A large woman with a heavyset bosom came towards him, and she grinned showing her broken yellow teeth, “Here for a good time, love? Only cost a silver dragon.”

Tyrion grimaced. Even if he was the whoremonger that he used to be many years ago, he wasn’t sure he would be in the mood.

“I’m looking for someone.” He stated, holding his hood closer to his face, hoping no one else had noticed him. Though being a dwarf, he knew that his stature was dangerously recognizable.

“Eh?” The woman asked leaning down towards him. Tyrion scrunched his nose at her sour breath.

“Ser Bronn of the Blackwater told me I could find my friend here.” Tyrion continued.

Shrugging, the woman responded, “There’s a man just down the stairs there, wouldn’t touch any of the girls, same as you. Probably a sword swallower, like yourself, eh?”

Tyrion shook his head with disgust as the woman bellowed with laughter. He didn’t bother thanking her as he made his way down the stairs into what would have been a small cellar, but now were occupied with half-naked men and women thrusting and grunting against the walls or atop tables. Lusty screams and grunts permeating the air.

None of it bothered Tyrion of course. He’s seen worse at worse brothels.

Tyrion’s eyes scanned the room and he found a hunched figure leaning against a large barrel in the corner. He sidestepped a couple that were having their way with each other on the ground as he made his way to the cloaked man.

As he walked closer, he noticed the man had his face hidden underneath the dark hood of his cloak, his hands covered by his sleeves. But Tyrion could recognize that posture anywhere, even in a defeated state, he knew his brother too well.

“Jaime?”

The hooded figure looked up and Tyrion caught the sight of familiar green eyes underneath the shadow of his hood.

“Tyrion? Thank the gods.”

Jaime bent down and the two brothers held on to each other. It had been too long.

 “It’s good to see you, little brother.” Jaime whispered.

Tyrion gestured to him and they moved towards a smaller room in the corner which it seemed was once a pantry of some sort. Only it was empty now and smelled like piss.

Once they were inside, Tyrion shut the door slightly.

Despite the dim lighting, Tyrion could not help but notice the dark bags under his brother’s eyes and his mirth at seeing his brother turned into irate fear as he grabbed his brother’s cloak, “What are you still doing in King’s Landing? You’re not safe here. Daenerys is out for both of your heads, though I think she’ll sooner have her dragons burn you alive than behead you.”

Jaime put his hand on Tyrion’s and growled, “I can’t get us on a ship because… because…”

Tyrion released him and huffed, “I know.”

Jaime’s eyes widened, “You know?”

“Bronn. He told me. Of all people I had to hear it from. It was him and not from you.” Tyrion said bitter anger.

“I couldn’t trust a raven or a messenger with that kind of news.” Jaime reasoned, “There were only three people who knew at the beginning. Cersei, myself and Qyburn. She hid herself in her chambers for months. When I had returned from the Freys, I found the Sept of Baelor in ruins. I was told Queen Margaery, her brother, the High Sparrow and hundreds of people were all dead. Then they told me about Tommen.”

At this point, Jaime stopped, his voice heavy-laden with emotion, “I was going to leave her, Tyrion. After what she had done, I didn’t think I could look at her ever again. But then when I saw her…”

Tyrion nodded, he didn’t need to hear it all. He understood. He knew the power his sister had over him and with a baby on the way, he knew Jaime was not the kind of man to abandon his child.

“How far along is she?” Tyrion asked.

“Qyburn had said, if all goes well, the baby may come after two moon cycles. She’s too heavy with child to take on a long sea voyage… and there’s something else.” Jaime said in a low voice as he laid his left hand on Tyrion’s shoulders.

“What is it?”

Jaime looked lost and frightened. He had never seen that look in his brother’s eyes before.

Jamie Lannister was never a man that was easily intimidated. He looked fear in the eye and faced every battle head-on. What did the Kingslayer have to fear?

“Cersei’s… she’s not…” Jaime was struggling, there were tears in his eyes.

Tyrion frowned and grabbed Jaime’s arm, “Cersei is not what?”

“She’s not herself, she’s completely lost her mind.” Jaime whispered.

It took a moment for the words to process in Tyrion’s mind. He looked as his brother in disbelief, “What are you saying? She blew up the entire city with wildfire, Jaime! Losing her mind is a severe understatement.”

But Jaime tightened his hold on Tyrion, crumpling Tyrion’s cloak in his hand, “You don’t understand! Tommen’s death drove her to brink of her sanity! When Daenerys took the city, Cersei wanted to burn herself with wildfire on the Iron Throne. ‘Let the Dragon Queen sit upon my ashes, but she’ll never have the throne.’ That’s what she said.”

“The Iron Throne’s gone. Cersei saw to that when she burned down the throne room.” Tyrion muttered, hardly believing what Jaime was saying, but also knew that it was truth.

If there was anything that Cersei cared about more than life itself, it was her children. Losing them would have torn her apart. But it seemed that his sister’s lust for power and the throne played a part in her madness as well.

“What of your unborn child? Surely the baby…”

Jaime shook his head, “She barely eats, I’ve hardly seen her sleep unless she’s given a drop of nightshade. She keeps talking about this prophecy.”

“What prophecy?”

“Some woods witch predicted her marriage to Robert and the death of her three children. ‘Gold shall be their crowns and gold shall be their shrouds’. She says it loudly to herself almost every night. She doesn’t believe the child will live, Tyrion. She thinks it’s already dead.”

Tyrion hardened his jaw. He never had any love for Cersei, not really. Her children, he adored. Even Joffrey at one point. But to hear this from Jaime…

_She’s still my sister… She’s still a lion at heart…_

“I never told you how sorry I am about the children… Myrcella and Tommen. They were angels, I loved them dearly.” Tyrion said in a low voice as he looked up at Jaime.

Once he said this, immediately Jaime’s features suddenly turned cold and he removed his hand from Tyrion.

“She blames you, you know. For their deaths. She isn’t wrong there.” Jaime said, a dark look in his eyes. “You shipped Myrcella off to Dorne, and you killed our Father after I set you free! With Father gone, all our enemies came for us… for Myrcella, for Tommen, for her. Now you’re advising Daenerys Targaryen, the daughter of the king that I stabbed in the back. Perhaps I should have let you rot in that cell.”

Tyrion closed his eyes with a pained look.

_Jaime… you don’t know… you don’t know where dead whores go…_

“You knew what Father was going to do to me. I was his son as much as you were, yet he treated me like I was nothing more than a monster, a creature he was loathed to claim as his own blood. He knew I didn’t kill Joffrey and he would have executed me anyway.”

_Shae…Tysha… Father killed them, Jaime. Their beautiful faces… their blood in his hands…_

Jaime turned his head away and folded his arms in front of him.

Tyrion sighed, “It doesn’t matter now. Father is gone and even if he were alive, there would have been nothing he could do to stop Daenerys from coming to Westeros. Even without Dorne, Highgarden or the Iron Islands, she still has her Dothraki and Unsullied. She still has her three dragons. What can Father possibly do against dragons?”

“I guess we’ll never know.” Came Jaime’s monotonous response.

Tyrion shook his head slowly. Then he reached into the pocket of his cloak, pulling out a medium sized pouch. He held it out to Jaime.

Jaime’s eyes glowered at him suspiciously, “What is this?”

“A hundred gold dragons.” Tyrion responded, “Enough to keep you and Cersei alive until you are able to sail across the Narrow Sea.”

Jaime hesitated until Tyrion pushed the pouch against his chest, “Take it. Don’t be a bloody martyr.”

Tyrion noticed that Jaime was absent his gold-cast hand, he darted his eyes away from his brother’s stump of an arm as he released his hold on the pouch of coins.

“A long time ago, I swore to Bronn that the next time I saw you, I would cut you in half.”

Tyrion gave him a wry smile, “Might be hard to do that now with only one hand.”

“Perhaps. But I don’t need two hands to squeeze the life out of you.” Jaime seethed as he moved closer to Tyrion, towering over him.

But Tyrion wasn’t afraid. He had been ready to die since he buried a bolt in his father's chest.

_Funny that. I used to think death was so final and life full of endless possibilities._

But that was a different time, he was a different man.

“Go on, then.” Tyrion said in a resigned tone.

But Jaime didn’t move, his one hand clenched at his side.

Tyrion slowly shook his head. Spending time with Daenerys had made it easier for him to spot a bluff when he sees one. He knew his brother could never, would never harm him. After all, why would Jaime ask to meet in the first place, if not to seek help.

Jaime scoffed and as he leaned back against the wall, stowing the coin pouch inside his own cloak.

“We best part.” Tyrion noted, “The longer we linger, the greater the chance we may be discovered.”

But Jaime remained where he stood.

“Why are you doing this?” Jaime asked him.

Tyrion didn’t answer.

_Jaime…you don’t know?_

“You have no love for Cersei. She’s wanted you dead since the moment you were born. I’m sure you both have devised and imagined a thousand different ways to kill each other and make each other suffer all your lives. Why are you helping her now?”

Tyrion felt the tears catch in his throat, “You’re right. I don’t love Cersei. But you do. You love her more than anything in this world.”

Jaime's eyes shimmered in the darkness.

“I’m not doing this for her. I’m doing it for you. You who, all my life, sees me as more than just a monster. You never felt any shame in loving me as your brother. Tell me why would I leave you to die when you have saved me more times than I can count?” Tyrion’s voice shook with emotion as he spoke.

“You may think that I have no love for this family. That may be the truth. How could I love a father who called me a spiteful, lewd little creature? Or a sister who paid mercenaries to murder me on the battlefield? Or a nephew who tormented me for sport? But I am a Lannister, Jaime. Just like you. I have my pride.”

“Tyrion…”

Tyrion pulled up his hood so his brother wouldn’t see his tears, “Come.”

As they exited the room, Jaime placed a hand on Tyrion's shoulder.

“I will see you again, little brother. I promise you that.”

Tyrion lifted his eyes to him, “If I do see your face again, Jaime, it will be the last time.”

Jaime’s eyes widened slightly at that statement, but Tyrion had already turned away, stepping over the bodies of a naked man and woman writhing on the dusty floor.

As he left the make-shift brothel, Tyrion felt his tears streaming down his face, dampening his dark blonde beard. He lowered his head as he walked. He didn’t even bother to see if Jaime had followed behind him or which direction his brother had taken.

_Jaime… I always wanted to be you… You had it all… You were everything I wasn’t… Forgive me…_

Tyrion’s eyes looked only forward as he walked the dusty, broken streets of King’s Landing. The dark sky was overcast and no moon shone its light on him as he continued to make his way back to the Red Keep. He didn’t notice the eyes of someone watching him from the roof of broken house or the patter of small footsteps that ran behind the edifices that he had just passed.

* * *

 

JON

_Blue eyes… cold blue eyes…_

_Snow… so much snow…_

_A howl escapes from his throat… his claws digging into the ground…_

_Dead bodies rising…. Blue eyes…_

_The Walkers… they’re coming…_

_Jon! Jon! Wake up!_

_Dead bears… dead wolves… dead lions…_

_Heavy paws running through the snowy woods, the smell of death_

_The Wall. The storm winds are blowing it down._

_A dragon covered in ice… its wings made of glass… its breath a blue flame…_

_Blue eyes…_

_Jon! Please!_

_Wings of flames sprouting on his back… scales on his skin… fire seeping from his lips…_

_Blood… the taste of blood in his mouth…_

_Fire… Red fire… the flames are calling…_

_The night is dark and full of terrors…_

_Blue, blue eyes…_

_A knife slicing into his heart._

_JON!_

His eyes sprung open. Sweat drenching his body. His breathing in deep, heavy gasps.

Jon found himself gazing up at the ceiling of his tent. Dawn had just broken. The pale light of day barely seeping into the heavy cloth of his marquee.

He forced himself to sit up.

_The dream. The dream was always the same._

Jon ran a hand down his face and tugged on his beard.

_How many hours was I asleep? Two? Three?_

Sleep was a rare commodity for him. It had always been. But now, he wished that sleep would never come. He held his head in his hands. His night terrors were coming more frequently now. The Walkers, he could see them as clear as day. They were raising the dead and bringing them south.

Jon turned to his side and found Ghost’s dark red eyes looking at him from his bedside. Jon reached out a hand to him and ran his fingers down Ghost’s white fur. Upon touching his giant direwolf, Jon felt a calmness fall upon him.

“Ghost…” He whispered as he reached over, grabbing fistfuls of Ghost’s fur and bringing the direwolf close to him, burying his face in Ghost's neck.

Jon shut his eyes. What were his dreams like before he died? He couldn’t remember. Did he dream of Winterfell? Of his childhood? Of hunting in the Wolfswood with Robb, Father and…

Jon grimaced. The memory wouldn’t come. He knew it was there but he couldn’t see it in his mind. It was almost like someone had ripped a page out of a book. He knew there was a page, but the words he couldn’t remember. 

Ghost licked the side of Jon's ear, which seemed to comfort Jon for a moment.

Just then, he heard the sound of heavy footfalls approaching his tent. Jon released Ghost as he waited to see who was coming for him. Longclaw was leaning on the table next to his bed and Jon kept his eye on it as he pushed the furs away from him and sat on the edge.

The icy air chilled his damp body but Jon paid no mind to it. He had grown to accept the cold. After all, the North was in his blood.

“My King.”

One of his soldiers entered the tent, going down on one knee respectfully before him.

“Speak.” Jon commanded tersely as he stood, his bare feet on the ground. The King in the North once more.

“Lord Tully and his men have arrived. The Knights of the Vale as well with Lord Arryn and Ser Royce.”

Jon’s lips tightened, “Has Lady Stark been informed?”

“Yes, Your Grace. She is preparing to meet them now as we speak.” The soldier answered.

Jon gave a curt nod, “Good. I will be with them shortly. Prepare food and wine for our guests. I will break my fast with them and with my sister.”

“At once, Your Grace.” With a bow of his head, the soldier stood and exited the tent.

Once he had gone, Jon took a deep, shaky breath.

It had only been over a month since Jon was named King in the North. Yet the winter crown rested heavier on his head than the burly black cloak of Lord Commander. Uniting the Northern Lords was not an easy task with some still harbouring resentment from their losses during Robb's wars and, of course, the Red Wedding. But they had been quick to raise their swords and bend their knees once the Battle of the Bastards had been won.

_The King in the North! The King in the North!_

Jon remembered their loud cries. He remembered turning to Sansa who rose from her chair so she could kneel properly before him.

_Was this how Robb felt? When they named him King?_

But Jon wasn’t Robb. He knew that. The Robb he knew had a boisterous laugh, wavy auburn hair and he was every bit his father's son and heir despite looking more like a Tully than a Stark. Jon felt an old ache in his heart at the thought of his brother.

_What if I left the Night's Watch to be with you, Stark? Would you have beheaded me for it?_

Robb kept to the old ways as much as he did. Traitors deserved no mercy. That was what their father taught them.

_The man who passes the sentence…_

Jon's mind ached. _What was it?_

Jon walked towards a small basin that was kept close to the small fire burning in his tent, he poured water from a pitcher into it and cupping the icy water into his hands, he brought it to his face. The water dripped from his beard, trickling to the ground.

_I can’t make the same mistakes. Robb had made a vow and broke it. He beheaded the leader of a prominent vassal thereby depleting his armed forces. He also lost the Kingslayer, perhaps his most valuable hostage, failing to see the secret machinations of his own mother._

This made Jon wary of Sansa. She was every inch Lady Catelyn's daughter. Could he truly trust her? Jon knew he had no choice. It was Sansa who was the trueborn Stark. It was also through her that Jon had the loyalties of the Riverlands and the Eyrie.

But more importantly, she was still his sister.

_The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives…_

He realized that he couldn’t keep fighting Sansa no matter their differences. He just hoped that trusting her would not lead him down the same path as Robb or his Father. It was Sansa who knew the political landscape better than he, she had her own spies, and the North would rally to her side just as quickly if she called on them to do so.

_But I’m just a bastard… nothing but a bastard..._

\------

An hour later, Jon emerged from his tent clad in his silver armour, the Stark sigil gleaming on his breastplate and over his shoulders was the thick wolf-pelt cloak Sansa had made for him. Upon his brow rested a broad circlet made of bronze steel lined with white stones at the base of each of the nine iron spikes.

Jon was highly resistant to the idea of wearing a crown but Sansa had insisted.

_What kind of a King forsakes a crown?_

As he walked through the camp, soldiers and servants bowed or knelt as he passed. Murmurs of “Your Grace" and “my king" followed after him. Jon was accompanied by a small entourage of squires and guards once he had left his tent. Ghost moving closely beside him.

“Good morning, Your Grace.” He heard a familiar voice say.

Jon gave a small nod, “Ser Davos.”

The Onion Knight, with his graying beard and bushy brows fell in step beside the King in the North. His hands behind his back as he walked. Unlike the King, Ser Davos was absent his armor but he carried his broadsword with him and on his shoulders was a dark grey cloak trimmed with matted fur.

“Seems our armies have nearly tripled in size since we left Winterfell.”

“Aye.” Jon answered, “For that we have my sister's uncle and cousin to thank.”

The Onion Knight hummed under the breath.

“I only hope that your betrothed Dragon Queen won’t feel too threatened else we find ourselves burnt to ashes before we even cross the Blackwater Rush.”

Jon replied, “My sister and I would have the Queen see the forces we command as a sign that our alliance would do her more good than harm. Once the marriage vows have been spoken and the ceremonies concluded, I will send the forces North to defend the Wall.”

“Do you think the Queen would be keen on that? Does she know about the threat of the dead beyond the Wall?” Ser Davos asked.

Jon's jaw tightened.

_Another problem for another time…_

His silence seemed enough to answer Ser Davos' question and his advisor forced a smile as he tried to lighten the mood, “In any case, Your Grace, for what it's worth, it is a well-arranged match. I have heard tales of the Dragon Queen's beauty.”

To this, Jon grunted, “It is not her beauty that gives me concern. It’s the fact that she has three full grown dragons, an army of Unsullied and Dothraki as well as the Iron fleet on her side. Not to mention Sunspear and Highgarden. Winter has come and we need the support of the South to survive. Loathe as I am to admit it, we need the Dragon Queen more than she needs us. What beauty she may or may not have is the furthest thing from my mind."

Davos sighed, “Says the man who has never been married.”

Jon passed his advisor a hard look and the Onion Knight merely chuckled in response.

They emerged to the outer skirts of their camp where Jon found his sister speaking cordially with her Uncle Edmure. Lord Tully was garbed in the traditional Tully armour with rippling steel plates covered in leather scales mimicking the fish that was their sigil.

Sansa’s Arryn cousin was fidgeting with his gloves and being hissed at by Ser Yohn Royce. The young Lord of the Vale was clad in a baby blue winter coat, his blue boots stepping on the hem of his heavy cape.

Jon looked behind them to see the thousands of mounted men that had accompanied Lord Tully and Lord Arryn. Sigils of the fish and falcon decorating numerous flags and banners held up by their troops. A smattering of other Houses carrying their own insignia could be found within the great army as well.

Sansa turned as Jon and Ser Davos approached them.

“Lady Stark.” Jon greeted his sister.

She curtsied to him, “Your Grace.”

Lord Edmure knelt to the ground but Jon could tell that his reverence was less than sincere, “Your Grace.”

Ser Royce bent the knee as well, tugging on his young Lord's tunic, “Your Grace.”

The thousands of men around them bowed their heads to Jon as well.

“The King in the North!” Ser Davos cried out, his hand extended towards Jon.

“THE KING IN THE NORTH!” The men responded with a resounding cry.

Jon narrowed his eyes as he surveyed all of them and then with firm nod of his head, he stated, “Rise, Lord Tully and Lord Arryn. I thank you for your support and your allegiance to House Stark and the North. My sister and I are forever in your debt. I hope the winter snows did not hinder your journey for too long.”

“Gods be good, it did not Your Grace.” Ser Yohn Royce replied as Robin Arryn started to play with a blade of grass he had pulled from the ground.

“Will the wolf-man give me my own wolf?” Robin murmured, his eyes fixed on Ghost.

“Hush now, my lord.” Ser Royce said under his breath.

Jon continued with a forced but cordial smile, “You must have ridden all night. Lady Stark and I welcome you to break your fast with us Please.”

A Stark soldier led the way to an open tent under which was a long table filled with pitchers of ale and beer, plates of fruit, rolls of bread, cheese, salted fish, and a variety of meat including wild fowl and venison as well as rabbit pies and stews..

Sansa and the lords waited till Jon had seated at the head of the table and gestured for them to join him in the meal.

Lord Edmure sat to his left while Sansa sat to his right. Ser Davos stood behind Jon’s chair, his hands still clasped behind his back.

“You’re not eating with us, Ser Davos?” Sansa asked.

“I break my fast before dawn, m’lady. Don’t worry about me.” Ser Davos responded with a genial smile.

Jon took a slab of deer meat, tossing it to Ghost sitting beside him. The direwolf gulping the meat in one bite.

Lord Edmure's condescending grimace at this action was not unnoticed.

Jon ate his meal in stony silence. He was never one for small talk, that was Sansa's domain, not his.

“So, Uncle.” Lady Sansa started, breaking the awkward silence as she buttered her bread, “I never did get to hear the whole story of how you managed to escape after the massacre at the Twins.”

Edmure smiled as he chewed, “I don’t understand it myself, Niece. All I know was I woke up in my cell one morning only to find the iron doors wide open and a letter tacked to the wall with a dagger.”

“What did the letter say?” Sansa asked with curiosity.

“That I was now the Lord Paramount of the Trident and that Riverrun had been reclaimed in my name. By who? I’m not sure. But it must have certainly been someone loyal to your family as it was signed with the words, ‘The North Remembers'.”

Jon frowned slightly as he listened. Someone extremely powerful had the entirety of House Frey murdered, someone who probably sought to avenge the Red Wedding. They say that over a thousand Freys lay in the Great Hall of the Twins with black froth in the mouths, their skins purplish and their eyes filled with blood. Men, women, children, bastards and even servants. No one was spared.

But then again, there were at least fifteen thousand Northerners who were killed at the Red Wedding including his own brother Robb, his pregnant wife and Lady Catelyn. The entire North had reason to see the Freys dead.

_Someone from the North must have paid more than a fair price to poison the Freys. But who?_

“Well, I’m happy to see you safe and Lord of Riverrun once more. My lady mother would have been pleased to hear it, gods rest her soul.” Sansa stated with a sad smile.

Lord Edmure reached a hand across the table to pat his niece's and gave her a sympathetic smile, “We all wish your lady mother were here with us. I’m sure she would be as pleased to hear her daughter is now the Lady of Winterfell. Though your mother probably thought you would be Queen...”

At this, Jon turned his grey eyes to Lord Tully who quickly added, “Of the Seven Kingdoms, of course, what with your betrothal to Joffrey and all.”

Sansa smiled back cordially, briefly passing Jon a warning glance, “Joffrey was a monster, Uncle, as are all Lannisters. I’m quite content serving the North as Lady of Winterfell and advisor to the King in the North.”

Edmure nodded with a sour smile and chuckled weakly, “Yes, of course.”

Jon felt his hand clench more tightly around his mug just as he brought it to his lips.

“I never thought it would be another wedding that would bring family together. The King in the North weds the Dragon Queen.” Edmure said with a grin at Jon, as he cut through his venison.

“The wolf and the dragon,” he continued, seemingly amused with himself, “Though, you are only half a wolf, of course.”

Sansa had stopped eating at this point. Jon felt a twitch in the corner of his mouth.

Edmure carried on oblivious of his gaffe, “Still, given that it was you, dear niece, who arranged it, I had no doubt that this would be a good match. Makes me think how easy things would have gone if all weddings were just as well-arranged since Robb—"

_THWACK!_

“Jon!”

Jon’s firm hand was on the handle of a knife that drove through Lord Edmure's sleeve just barely grazing his wrist and into the wooden table. Everyone in wide-eyed shock at the King as Ghost snarled from beside him.

“Choose your next words carefully, Lord Tully.” He whispered, a hoarse growl in his throat, “Might I remind you that it was at _your_ wedding where my brother, his wife and unborn child were savagely murdered while you were away bedding the daughter of the man who betrayed him. You’re here. He is not. Say his name again and you will be happy this knife did not land elsewhere.”

There was a moment of intense silence as everyone froze in their place. The only sound being the flapping of the tent cloth in the cold winds.

Jon pulled the knife off freeing Lord Edmure who shrunk back from him, shaking slightly as he rubbed his wrist.

“Jon…” Sansa said again.

But he avoided his sister's gaze as he threw the knife down hard on the table with a loud clank. Jon then abruptly rose from the table.

Everyone else hesitatingly got up from their seats as well, in respect.

“Apologies, my lords. Lady Stark. Other matters require my attention. Please, stay and finish your meals. The rabbit stew is quite good.” Jon said humorlessly before he nudged his chair back with his leg and turned away from his guests.

“Ser Davos.” Jon called, gesturing with his head.

“Your Grace.” Ser Davos muttered hurriedly as he followed after his King.

Jon's boots thudded heavily on the frozen ground as he made his way back to his own tent. Ghost was coming right beside him.

Ser Davos had to jog a little to catch up with him.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” His advisor said in a low voice, “You really shouldn’t have done that.”

But Jon gave the Onion Knight his silence. His right hand gripping the Longclaw's pommel as he walked rapidly through the encampment.

When he had brushed back the flap of his tent, he pulled the heavy iron crown on his head and threw it on to the table.

Ser Davos entered the tent along with Ghost. The King's back towards them as he rested both his hands on the table, breathing hard.

“Your Grace?” Ser Davos asked with a tone of concern.

Ghost moved past the knight and came to sit beside Jon. The King rested his gloved hand on the direwolf’s snow-white head.

“Have the men prepare to move out. I want to cover as much ground as we can while we still have the day. The capital is but a few leagues from here, I would have us there in less than three days’ time if we ride hard. We are delayed enough as it is.”

The decisiveness in the King’s tone made it clear that he was in no mood for further conversation.

Ser Davos sighed with resignation as he bowed his head, “I’ll see to it at once, my king.”

Jon swallowed hard as he heard the Onion Knight leave and he closed his eyes.

“Go, Ghost. I’ll find you later.” Jon murmured as he placed his hand back on the table.

The white direwolf gazed up at Jon with his dark red eyes, his tail wagged briefly as he sniffed the air, then after a few moments, Ghost turned and slipped out through the flaps of Jon’s tent.

_Robb..._

_“Farewell, Snow.” Those were his last words to me. I should have come to your aid, brother. I should have been with you... died with you..._

Jon had to fight the urge to start tearing things apart. His hand moving away from the map on his table.

_But what could I have done? There was nothing to be done... If I had been with him, I wouldn’t have seen... I wouldn’t have known what is coming for us..._

The images from Jon’s dreams began to haunt him. He could still remember the bitter taste of copper in his mouth.

_The North calls to me..._

But Jon knew that he had no choice but to resist. His duty required him to go South. If they had any chance for survival, the conflicts in the South had to be dealt with. Perhaps he might even convince the Dragon Queen to have her armies and dragons fight alongside him in the Great War to come.

_She will be my wife after all..._

A Targaryen wife. The idea seemed strangely surreal to him. He could faintly recall the stories he read about the dragon warriors astride their monstrous steeds. But then he remembered that it was the Mad King who had also viciously executed his grandfather and uncle. Aerys’ son, Rhaegar, abducted his aunt, Lyanna and quite possibly killed her too.

The only Targaryen that Jon knew who stood in opposition to the bloodied history of the Targaryens was Maester Aemon. But even Jon could remember that as blind and old as the Maester might have been, the old dragon still had some fire in him.

_“What could I have done, old, blind, frail? I was helpless as a suckling babe, yet still it grieved me to sit forgotten as they cut down my brother’s poor grandson, and **his** son, and his children! Even the little children!_

Jon remembered Aemon’s words as clear as day, though he couldn’t recall the reason why he and the Maester were having that conversation in the first place.

_What of Daenerys? Where does she fall? Is she as mad as her father once was? Is she brave and bold like Daeron Targaryen? Or is she kind and wise as Maester Aemon had been?_

Jon shook his head. Perhaps she was all of them, perhaps she was none. He would find out soon enough.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the sound of angry, brisk footsteps approaching his tent. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Do you realize what you just did? What could have happened? Uncle Edmure was nearly about to take all his men back to Riverrun if I hadn’t convinced him not to! Have you gone completely mad, Jon?”

Jon took a slow, measured breath.

“As grateful as I am for your Uncle’s support, I have no mind to tolerate his idle prattle nor his insolence.”

“Insolence? My Uncle may have a loose tongue but he was far from insolent.” Sansa responded fiercely, “You, on the other hand, are intent on undermining everything we’ve done, that _I’ve_ done, to get us to this point!”

“I am his King just as much as I am yours, Lady Stark!” Jon stated harshly as he turned towards his sister, his eyes aflame.

Sansa was standing with her hands balled into fists, her face nearly as red as her hair.

“Just as Robb once was.” Jon continued, “I will not hear his name on your Uncle’s lips again, or gods help me--”

“You’ll what?” Sansa interrupted, her blue eyes wide with fury, “Behead him like you did all those men at Castle Black? Or leave him to the wolves like Ramsay?”

Jon hardened his jaw as he glared at his sister.

Sansa took a few hard breaths, before continuing, “I love you dearly, brother, and I respect and honor you as my King. But when we meet with the Queen, I pray that you learn to keep your impulses in check. I know you’ve never had a mind for politics and the feigned niceties of the South, but you said to me yourself that we can’t be at odds with each other at this time. What ever happened to not fighting a war amongst ourselves?”

The echo of what Jon had told her after they had taken back Winterfell resounded in Jon’s mind.

“Sansa...”

“If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace,” The title sounding bitter on her lips, “I have two large armies that need my reassurance and attention since you are clearly preoccupied with other matters.”

Before Jon could say another word to her, his sister had picked up the skirts of her dress and stormed out of the tent.

Jon cursed under his breath, banging his hand in frustration on the side of the table.

As much as he hated to admit it to himself, his sister had a point. She was as much a she-wolf as her own direwolf had been.

Jon flexed his fingers.

_What is happening to me?_

The vivid dreams. The blank pages of his memories. The viciousness of his temper. The lust for blood.

When Jon had awoken from what was suppose to be his final sleep, he felt that a piece of him had been left behind in the darkness. What had come back into his body was a soul tattered and patched with what used to be Jon Snow… and something else.

It was at that moment that Jon wished he hadn’t sent Ghost away. The direwolf brought a calming peace that withstood the raging storm within him. He always knew that the connection he had with Ghost was something that superseded any rational explanation. But when he had come back from the dead, Ghost had been a tether that kept his mind from exploding into chaos.

There was something clawing at him from within, a beast that had awoken from its sleep and would not be sated. He didn’t know what fresh level of hell the red priestess had unlocked but he did know that if he did not struggle against it, it would slowly consume him.

Jon groaned as he hung his head low, a few tendrils of his dark brown hair hanging over his face.

_Gods help me…_

There was so much to do and so little time. Jon gritted his teeth, his eyes spying the Iron crown he had hastily cast aside. He reached a hand towards it and picked it up, running his thumb over the white stones.

_I am King… I should start acting like one…_

Jon slowly set the crown upon his head where it felt heavier than it did in his hand.

He set his grey eyes forward and took a deep breath.

_I have men to command… lords to appease… and a Queen to marry…_

Jon only hoped that the day would end better than it started.

                                                                                                                                       -----

Jon trotted his black stallion towards his sister’s tent. Night had just fallen with a smattering of dark grey clouds across the dark blue sky. Small bonfires dotted the encampment with the sight of the capitol in the distance.

The King dismounted from his horse and a soldier came up and took the reins from him.

Adjusting his gloves, Jon ducked his head as he entered into his sister’s quarters. He found her sitting on a small stool darning one of her wool cloaks. A few candles providing what little light they could to aid her in her work.

She was only a maid of eighteen years and yet she did not look it. Her long red hair was kept neatly in a Northern braid and a heavy cloak was wrapped around her shoulders. The hard years of her young life etched on her beautiful, pale face. Jon still felt tremendous guilt knowing now what his sister had been through with the Boltons and not having been there to protect her.

He hoped Ramsay had suffered, he hoped that his screams echoed for hours into the night as he was torn to shreds.

 _Never again_ , Jon thought as he observed his younger sister.

The King cleared his throat, announcing his presence.

Sansa lifted her head and a deep scowl darkened her face as she watched her brother walk towards her.

“I can have a few more candles brought in, if that would be of help to you.” He stated in a reconciliatory tone.

“I have everything I need, Your Grace, thank you.” Sansa answered curtly as she returned her eyes to her cloak, pulling on her needle a bit forcefully.

Jon nodded slowly and then he walked closer to Sansa, “About earlier, you were right, I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

Sansa hand paused before drawing the needle through the cloth again but she continued to avoid his gaze.

“But I stand by what I said, Robb was King in the North, just as much as I am now. I know Lord Tully thinks that I’m nothing but a bastard and deserve no more than a bastard’s regard. I know he sees me the way that your lady mother used to. I know the shame that I bring to our family.”

Sansa sighed and then moved her eyes up to look at him.

“You’ve done more for this family than I ever could have.” Sansa stated.

“You and I both know that’s not true.” Jon answered in a low voice.

Sansa’s expression softened as she gave a faint smile, “Perhaps. But you are King now. Father and Robb would be as proud of you as I am. Soon, you’ll rule more than just the North, the Seven Kingdoms will answer to you as well.”

Jon gave a gruff snort, “If the Dragon Queen would allow me such a privilege.”

“I’m sure she would. You may not have Robb’s charm, but perhaps the Queen would be drawn to your dark brooding nature instead.” Sansa said in a light teasing tone.

Jon walked towards her, reaching into his cloak, he pulled out a small scroll and handed it to his sister.

“What’s this?” Sansa asked, her eyebrows furrowing as she unfurled the scroll.

“I want your Uncle to lead our armies from the front, along with your cousin and Lord Royce. This is my official command, to be announced early tomorrow.” Jon explained.

Sansa glanced up at him in surprise, “But you are King in the North, you should be the one leading the armies.”

Jon shook his head, “I owe my allies a place of honor upon entry to King’s Landing. You, Lady Stark, shall ride by me.”

With a small bow of his head, Jon turned and was on his way to leave.

“Jon,” his sister called out.

He stopped and looked back at her.

Sansa gave him a relieved smile, “Thank you.”

“Good night, Lady Stark.” He responded before he parted the tent flap and walked back outside.

Jon felt a weight lift from his heart. Humbling himself to make peace with his sister was slowly becoming more manageable. Yet, within him, Jon could still feel the stirrings of rage boiling in his veins.

Jon looked up and heard the sound of a distant howl.

_Ghost…?_

But Jon shook his head. It must be another wolf. Ghost never howled. 

It had been a while since he had seen his direwolf but he knew that Ghost was never too far away.

Drawing his cloak closer around him, Jon walked back towards his horse and pulled himself back up on the saddle. The soldier released the reins, and Jon turned his steed and galloped off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, in case it wasn't clear, this story might probably have Dark!Arya too (as if she wasn't already Dark! enough).  
> And yeah, Cersei is super cray cray.  
> Phew, this chapter was a little difficult as I got stuck on the dialogues for a long minute.  
> Anyhoo, next chapter should be up in a few days/in a week at the most. Stay tuned!


	3. Sometimes I Marry Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany does some self-care. Sansa and Jon arrive in King's Landing. Fire and Ice finally meet! (Basically what Season 7 x 03 should have been)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little explicit warning for Dany's chap, not that much, just a tiny bit.  
> I'm not too happy with this chapter, I might make a few changes after I post this.  
> BUT! I finally got these two hotheads to meet, y'all already know what's coming in the next chap - Sorry for having to make you wait! My characters like talking a lot.
> 
> Next chap might take a while coz I'm off on a retreat this weekend so I might have it done in a week, more or less, if my dark kinky muse stays around.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> UPDATE: Thanks to everyone for your lovely comments and feedback! As someone who really struggles with attention to detail (and who honestly wiki's all of these things because I haven't read the books in forever), I try to keep as true to the characters as I can. I am primarily a show-fan first before the books so sometimes I think I take a bit more liberty when it comes to the characters and the world itself. It's hard enough trying to mimic GRRM and my worldbuilding isn't as profound lmao But I do appreciate the support and love. Thank you!

* * *

DAENERYS

The day was unusually bright, with the sun shining clearly amidst a cloudless blue sky. But the northern winds that blew through the city brought the taste of winter, although snow had yet to fall on the Crownlands.

Clad in her warmest red coat, Dany urged her copper-toned mare forward as she and Missandei rode on horseback towards the Dragonpit. Riding behind the two women at a distance were Ser Barristan and Grey Worm while a small group of Unsullied soldiers accompanied them on foot. The two women had slowed their horses to a trot as they discussed a variety of matters including the relations with her allies, news from Essos and the cities she freed, and, of course, her upcoming marriage.

“Your Grace must be wondering if this marriage would be as fruitful as the last one.” Missandei relayed as she tucked a ring of her curly black hair behind her ear.

“Jon Snow isn’t a slave master or the son of one. He’s the bastard son of the man who rebelled against my father.” The Queen answered, “Now he dares to crown himself King in the North. Were it not for this marriage, I would have executed him for waging open rebellion against my crown.”

Dany noticed a puzzled look on her friend’s face, “What is it, Missandei?”

“Apologies, Your Grace,” Missandei answered, a small blush on her cheeks, “The word, ‘bastard’, I am not too familiar with it. What does it mean?”

Dany chuckled as she lightly shook her head, “Ser Jorah told me once about your customs in Naath. An island without marriage, must have been quite liberating to have lived there.”

“It was.”

Dany smiled as she explained, “A bastard is the child of a man and woman who are not bound in marriage. The people of Westeros consider bastards a shame particularly if they come from a noble family. Their faith frowns upon infidelity, the Seven expect a man and a woman to be faithful to each other from the moment their hands are joined in matrimony. Any children a married man and woman were to have would be true-born while bastards… well… bastards are the mark of unfaithfulness, disloyalty and lies.”

“And you would marry one?” Missandei asked in surprise.

Dany sighed as she adjusted the reins of her horse in her palm, “He has been named the King in the North, Missandei. Three of my Seven Kingdoms have rallied behind him. My council would have it that I defer to diplomacy and alliance instead of fire and blood.”

“Your Grace was never one to listen to the advice of her counselors.” Missandei pointed out.

Dany smirked remembering the time when she was cautioned to spare the good and wise masters of Yunkai and Astapor. Now only their ashes were left to cry out vengeance against her.

“I need to be a different kind of Queen this side of the Narrow Sea. After all, these are my people. This is my home. My family has ruled this land for centuries. The Targaryens brought dragons, and magic… and peace. I would have it that way as well. A better future for my Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps even a future where queens can marry bastards and foster prosperity throughout the land.”

Missandei couldn’t help but giggle behind her hand, Dany looked over at her curiously.

“Apologies, Your Grace, but it does amuse me to imagine you sitting content on a throne, without wars to wage and enemies to burn. Would it not bore you?”

Dany contemplated the question for a moment.

Her closest advisor had a point. For the better part of her life, if she wasn’t running from her enemies, she was exacting chaos and bloodshed upon them. It was the reason she kept guards at her doors at all times, had her food and drink tasted before she ate and kept a knife close to her when she slept.

As Dany looked up to the sky, she saw a pair of swallows fly past them.

_Would I be happier with a peaceful life? Is that even possible for the mother of dragons? Quaithe once told me that dragons don’t plant trees. I used to believe I could be merciful, just and loved by all. But who could love a dragon? Not even my sun and stars knew how, and he was the Khal of Khals._

Her mind thought back to her conversation with her Lord Hand.

_All my enemies are nearly destroyed. Once I marry, I will have the Seven Kingdoms to rule over once more. This is what I’ve wanted all my life. Is it not?_

“Your Grace?” Missandei asked.

Dany shook her head and gave her a dismissive laugh, “Perhaps this Jon Snow can provide enough amusement for me.”

When they were a few feet away from the entrance to what used to be the most fearsome place in all of King's Landing, they dismounted their horses.

Dany heard the unmistakable cries and snarls of her children from within, and she couldn’t help but smile.

The Dragonpit was a massive and colossal structure, once home to such magnificent beasts like Balerion the Dread and Queen Alysanne's Silverwing. Though its domed ceiling had collapsed and the walls blackened from dragonfire and disuse, it was still large enough to house Dany's three dragons.

Dany walked through the wide open cast-iron doors and unto the sands of the Dragonpit.

A vicious roar greeted her as she entered. Dany had to suppress a laugh as she finally beheld her monstrous children.

Her gold and cream dragon, Viserion, was in a tug of war with his brother, the emerald-scaled Rhaegal. Both their jaws clamped on what appeared to be the burnt carcass of a cow. The sound of bone and flesh ripping resounded as the dragons tore the animal apart before they snapped their jaws heartily consuming their prey.

“ _Ñuha dōna riñar. {My sweetlings}”_ Dany crooned as she approached them.

Her boots mindlessly stepping over a garden of charred animal and human skeletons, burnt armour and weapons.

She reached up a hand and Viserion gave a soft growl as he lowered his snout towards her. Rhaegal did the same, hot steam coming from his nostrils.

She smelled blood and burnt flesh from their jaws and Dany chided them gently, “ _Keligon sir.  Kesā jiōragon ānogar va nyke. {Careful now. You’re going to get blood all over me.}”_

Her hands softly caressed their warm scales as both her children purred at her touch.

Dany couldn’t believe how large they had grown, it seemed like it was only just yesterday that she had carried them in her arms.

She also inspected a wound Viserion had in his shoulder. One of Cersei's scorpion bolts had injured him but the wound was not too deep nor did it affect his ability to fly. Dany could only glare at the scaly scar that had grown over the wound.

_My poor little one…_

Dany heard another loud roar and looking towards the open ceiling, she saw Drogon with his black wings spread wide and his sharp teeth glistening in the sun as he perched atop the ruins. His dark wings casting a shadow on all those in the Dragonpit. With a loud and heavy flap, Drogon pushed himself off and flew up towards the sky.

Both Viserion and Rhaegal screeched in response and they stepped back from their mother, as they too took to the skies following their brother.

_My beautiful, magnificent children._

Satisfied that her children looked to be well-fed and in good spirits, Dany turned and she gave Missandei a look of a mother’s pride.

“They seem to be healing well from the battle, Your Grace. Viserion especially.” Missandei commented as she came closer to Dany.

“Yes,” Dany responded as she looked back up to the skies in time to see Rhaegal and Viserion disappear from her line of sight, “Only a fool would think my children can be harmed by just one arrow. Their scales have toughened up remarkably and they’ve been flying much faster since we’ve crossed the Narrow Sea.”

At this point, Grey Worm and Ser Barristan walked up to them as well.

The mother’s softness faded from Dany’s face as the regal Queen took over.

“Did you get anything out of the prisoners, Ser Barristan?” She asked.

Her Lord Commander shook his head.

“A pity.” Dany responded dryly, “I see they prefer to die rather than serve their Queen.”

“They say they know nothing about the whereabouts of Cersei, her Hand or the Kingslayer, Your Grace. Perhaps they may be telling the truth. Mercy might be a more helpful motivator than fear.” The old knight mentioned calmly.

“Mercy?” Dany laughed bitterly, “Did the khals show mercy when they threatened to have me raped by their _kos_? Did the masters show mercy to the thousands of little girls they crucified on the road to Meereen? Did my own brother show me mercy when he had me sold off like a broodmare? Fear stirs the spirit and strengthens it, Lord Barristan. For who do we become if we do not have a little fear in our lives?”

The knight gave a quick glance to Missandei. The Queen’s advisor softly cleared her throat.

“Your Grace, if I may say something,” She added softly, her brown eyes watching her Queen intently, “But you did say you wanted to be a different kind of Queen here.”

Dany paused and then hummed, amused by what she was hearing as she considered Missandei’s words, “You’re right, my friend. I did say that did I not?”

Then the Queen turned to her Unsullied Commander, “ _Turgon Nudha!_ ”

Grey Worm stepped forward, ready for her command.

“ _Tepagon se qrinuntyssy iā iderennon.  Kostis kivigon pazavorve naejot nyke se obūljagon iā kostis sagon havor syt ñuha riñar.  Dāez lī lēda ābrazȳrys se riñar ēlī_ { _Give the prisoners a choice. They can swear loyalty to me and bend the knee or they can be food for my children. Release those who have wives and children first.}_

He bowed his head ready to leave when Dany suddenly stopped him with a raised hand.

“ _Lo mirri gaomagon daor gīmigon skoriot pōja pazavorve pirtra, maghagon zirȳ kesīr se emagon zirȳ urnēbagon se zaldrīzoti kisalbar va lī qilōni gaomagon daor obūljagon {If they are still uncertain of their loyalties, you can bring them here to watch my dragons feast on those who do not wish to bend.}_

Grey Worm nodded obediently.

When her Unsullied Commander had left, Dany turned to her Lord Commander with a stern look on her face, “There may be some merit to small mercies, Ser Barristan. But they all have their limits. I still have enemies in this country, and they need to know that Daenerys Stormborn is not a Queen that’s easily placated with small mercies.”

“Your Grace.” Ser Barristan said with a deep bow of his head.

Dany strode past him with an air of irritation.

As they exited the Dragonpit, Daenerys abruptly stopped.

“Return to the Red Keep, I will fly with Drogon today.”

“But Your Grace, the King in the North is said to be drawing close to the capital.” Ser Barristan indicated.

“He can wait.” Dany stated bluntly as she started to walk away from him. She looked up to the sky, calling for Drogon with her senses.

A moment passed and then from above, they heard the call of the Winged Shadow.

Drogon descended down to the open space next to the Dragonpit, his large, black wings blowing billows of sand and dust into the air. The red streaks on his scales gleamed in the sun as his long spiked tail whipped back and forth. A throaty growl reverberated from him as he extended his wing down towards his mother.

Before her Lord Commander could call to her once more, Dany had already deftly climbed up Drogon’s extended wing. She sat comfortably upon his back, gripping unto his scales.

“ _Sōvegon_ ” Dany commanded in a clear voice and within a moment she was rising high into the air, the ground and the people looking up at her quickly falling far away behind her. The air was colder but fresher the higher Drogon rose. Dany took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

This was her element, where she felt most safe. Up in the air with her child. Feeling his heat over his leathery scales, the heavy beats of his wings.

Dany heard the cries of her other dragons and her eyes opened. She grinned when Viserion and Rhaegal came on either side of their ebony-scaled brother. They flew above the half-ruined city of Kingslanding, past the broken Red Keep and over the streets.

Though she couldn’t see them, Dany knew that those on ground were looking up at her now. Perhaps wondering what the Dragon Queen was planning on doing. Was she going to wreck havoc today? Was she going to send fire and fury down on them? Where is she going?

But Dany cared little for what people thought of her. Though there was a time when it was the only thing that mattered to her. A long time ago, when she was a naïve little girl, she dreamt of being loved, of being adored, of being accepted by all. She remembered Magister Illyrio once told her brother about the secret toasts people in Westeros were saying in his name. She wondered if they did for her as well. Did the people in Westeros wish good tidings for their Princess of Dragonstone? Were they hoping for her return?

The Queen shook her head.

_No… I was a foolish, stupid little girl… I knew nothing then! I was weak… too innocent to bear the horrors of the world…_

Her own brother sold her to the horse lords. Meat to be traded in exchange for an army. The same brother who had once regaled her with stories and legends about their family. The same brother who gave her such fantasies of reclaiming the throne that belonged to their father who was unjustly murdered by his own Kingsguard.

_I thought that we were the good ones. I thought that the usurper was the evil villain who had killed father so he could enslave the people. I thought that we were meant to save them._

But Dany found out the truth when she had grown. Her father was called the Mad King who burned alive anyone who opposed him. He was said to be sadistic, cruel and brutal with the tortures he conducted on both his enemies and his own allies that he considered mistrustful. He laughed as he watched people burn with wildfire.

_Have I become you, father? Am I mad as well?_

Dany embraced the words of her House wholeheartedly. How could she not? It was what kept her alive her entire life spent in exile. It was what got her through the nights when her body was bloodied and bruised. It was what gave her her dragons.

But she knew that oft-repeated phrase of the coin that flips whenever a Targaryen was born.

_You are a dragon. Be a dragon._

The wise words of Lady Olenna came to her mind.

The flame and fury that she harnessed when her dragons were born gave her more fuel than food and drink. She craved blood and vengeance. She remembered hearing the screams of the witch who had cursed her with barrenness and who had taken her husband and child from her. How she wished she could hear her screams again.

When she looked into the eyes of the slaves who were beaten and sold in Astapor. She saw herself in them. She, too, was a once pure soul broken and ravaged by the cruelty of the world. She knew they weren’t strong enough to break free, so she broke their chains for them. She burned their slavers for them and crucified their masters. It was justice – crude and simple. These slave masters became her enemies the moment they saw someone else’s life as something to be sold.

_Death… fear… pain… That was what I wanted to bring to my enemies. So they can see just a little of what I endured, what I overcame to be who I am. To be Daenerys Stormborn._

As Drogon flew over Blackwater Bay, Dany breathed in the salty air. She felt the corners of her eyes damp with tears.

A life of peace, of security, of happiness… that life was stolen from her, ripped from her like a severed rope. She knew that she would never have it back again, so what was left? What could she strive for now?

_Fire and Blood. Yes. That is all._

Drogon landed on a hilltop that overlooked King’s Landing. Dany slipped down off his back and down the side of his left wing. As she looked down at the city that was now hers, she tightened her fists. Within her, she felt only isolation and sorrow as her amethyst eyes scanned the horizon.

_I’m the last Targaryen. The very last one. These people… they forget who we once were. Even now, my dragons don’t fill them with awe and wonder. They only cause fear. If they are monsters, then I am the mother of monsters._

Dany had no patience to make the people of Westeros love her. They need only know that she was now their Queen and she was going to bring back a semblance of peace and order back to the land. If she had to execute a hundred thousand Lannisters or marry a surly Northerner to do so... she would.

_A dragon shows no weakness. A dragon feels no pain. A dragon soars beyond the sky itself._

_A dragon… has no need for love. I can only bring justice and retribution. That is my destiny._

The people still suffered under the tyranny of political machinations and plots. Dany would free them from it. For that was what she was, a breaker of chains.

Tyrion's words about the legacy that she wanted to leave came to her mind.

_Would you like to be something more?_

What more could she be? She thought over the long list of titles that she already had and earned. 

_I can't have children..._

She bit her lip and fought back that thought. She might not be able to birth the next dynasty, but she can least leave this world better than when she found it. Perhaps that would be enough. 

Her gaze found its way to the Northern side of the city. She could already see the thousands of mounted soldiers slowly making their way to King’s Landing.

_My betrothed has arrived._

For some reason, Dany felt a stirring within her, a lustful itch that ached between her legs. It had been some time since she had been with a man. Her precious captain that she had left behind was heartbroken when she had told him to stay. But Dany felt no pain in leaving him behind… she only felt restless, wanton and needy. The tension that had built up within her since she had arrived had not been eased.

Dany bent down to sit on the grassy field, she slowly lay on her back so her eyes saw only the aquamarine sky. The wintry wind that blew did nothing to cool the heat from her skin.

She first removed her thick red coat, unlatching the hooks and then she pulled up her gown so she could feel the laces of the breeches she always wore underneath her regal clothes. Her fingers quickly unlacing the strings that kept her breeches tied at the front.

Once she had loosened it enough for her hand to reach inside, she began to touch her most sensitive and delicious part. Dany sighed as her fingers danced around her pulsing nub and then she inserted two fingers into her damp opening.

As she touched herself, she kept her eyes on the clouds as she moaned loudly. She cried out for her lover, for her husband, for her handmaidens who used to pleasure her during those warm nights in Meereen.

Her fingers moved faster and she spread her legs wider, feeling the ecstasy build the harder she rubbed.

She cried out into the air as she could feel herself start to climax. When the wave of euphoria hit her, she breathed out a sigh of release as her eyes fluttered. Her breath coming in small quick pants. But the sensation lingered only briefly before it faded away… and Dany still felt unsated.

She covered herself up quickly, tying back the laces on her breeches. Sitting up, Dany took a deep breath. Steeling herself as her eyes found the distant army approaching her capital.

_I believe it’s time I meet this King in the North…_

 

* * *

 SANSA

Sansa lowered her fur hood from her head as she brought her mare to a halt.

When the gates of King’s Landing were finally within sight, Sansa felt her stomach drop. It had only been over two years since she was last in the Capitol, and yet what she saw was nothing like she remembered.

Coming down the Kingsroad towards the Gate of the Gods, Sansa could see rows of soldiers clad in black leather and holding long spears lined up outside the walls of King's Landing.

 _Two thousand at least_ , Sansa thought as her hands tightened around the reins in her hand. The gate itself looked to be partially destroyed, black scorch marks on the edges of the wall and a hastily created blockade made of wood served as a semblance of a protective barrier. This barrier was set aside to allow the armies of the Vale, the Riverlands and the North through.

Sansa quickly looked to her right at her brother who had stopped beside her and she noticed the grave expression on his face mirrored the worry she felt.

Suddenly, she heard a hair-raising screech from above her. Some of the horses neighed and reared in fright and Sansa could hear the alarming gasps and murmurs of the men.

Looking up, Sansa nearly let out a scream as a gigantic beast with wings as wide as ship's sail soared above them, roaring viciously above them. Its scales were the color of dark emeralds with a tinge of metallic bronze on the tips of its sharp horns.

_Mother have mercy, a dragon! It’s a real, live dragon!_

Before she could compose herself from seeing her first dragon, two others followed behind the first. The black and red one the most monstrous of the three. The dragons roared and snarled as they circled above the stunned armies.

“Jon…” Sansa whispered, terror gripping her heart.

But her brother didn’t answer, although she saw a myriad of emotions in his steel-grey eyes, the King of the North kept his awe or fear buried underneath a resolute countenance.

The dragons disappeared from their sight but Sansa could still feel her heart beating wildly within her chest. It was like she had stepped into one of Old Nan's stories about the dragons of long ago. Sansa tried to keep herself and her mare calm as she brushed her horse's mane soothingly. 

_I pray the Seven keeps me strong..._

“Your Grace!” a voice called from behind them.

Both Sansa and Jon turned to see the soldiers behind them start to part. Coming in panting heavily was Jon's snow-white direwolf.

There was blood tainting his paws and the side of his jaws, indicating he had just newly fed.

“Ghost.” Jon whispered in surprise.

“Maybe you should send him away. Have him hide in the Kingswood until it’s all over.” Sansa cautioned, not wanting to remember the fate of her own direwolf when she had last journeyed South.

“No.” The King stated as his direwolf came to his side, blinking his red eyes, “Ghost stays with me.”

Sansa gave him a look of concern, unsure if he was making the right decision. But there was no dissuading Jon once he had made up his mind.

He motioned his black stallion forward and Sansa reluctantly followed, Ghost walking in between them.

Sansa could feel her breath catch in her throat as they started to pass the renowned Unsullied soldiers. All of them standing as still as trees, their eyes staring straight ahead and their spears held stiffly in their hands. She wasn’t sure if they were real men or made of stone as she couldn’t even tell if they were even breathing.

When they had finally passed through the gate, Sansa's eyes widened as she looked around the ruined city. Deep craters or a pile of rubble and debris remained where houses and other edifices once stood.

She recalled the first time she had seen King's Landing. The city reeked of waste and sewage but Sansa was in awe nevertheless. She remembered sticking her head out of the carriage to see the throng of people lining the streets. Arya had been moping in the corner but the sight of the city was a welcome respite for Sansa who still grieving the death of Lady.

_I thought King's Landing would be my home for the rest of my life. I could have been Queen._

But Sansa found no color or revelry as she and her brother's armies made their way down the broken streets this time. There was fear and curiosity instead in the eyes of the few onlookers who came to witness the arrival of the King in the North. The smell of lingering embers and the rot of death still hung in the air.

_Cersei did all this…_

When Sansa had heard about what had happened in King's Landing, she was horrified and yet not surprised. Cersei had been close to poisoning her own son and herself when she thought the city was lost to Stannis Baratheon. When she had heard that Tommen and Margaery had perished and Cersei crowned herself Queen, Sansa knew that more blood was going to be spilled if Cersei were to maintain any semblance of control over the Seven Kingdoms. She was only the King's mother after all, her claim was precarious and hardly legitimate particularly if it was true that Tommen was Ser Jaime's bastard and not Robert's true-born son.

But after seeing the ruined city with her own eyes, even Sansa couldn’t believe that Cersei would have gone that far.

_She must have gone completely mad. Even more mad than the Mad King._

She wondered why Ser Jaime had not run her through the same way he did the Mad King but then again, Cersei was also his sister and his lover, not just his Queen. Or perhaps he didn’t know she was capable of doing such a terrible thing either. Sansa was only left with more questions as she thought about what events may have transpired that led to the travesty she was witnessing.

Glancing subtly at her brother, his demeanor remained much unchanged.

“Is that a wolf, Mother? It’s so big! It’s almost as big as the horses!” Sansa heard a little boy exclaim.

“Hush child. That there is a direwolf. A rare creature of the North. Don’t go near it.” Came the mother’s anxious reply.

They had passed by the street where the Sept of Baelor once stood. Sansa couldn’t help but feel tears come to her eyes.

_Queen Margaery died here. She was beautiful and kind. We would have been sisters if I had married Ser Loras and not…_

Sansa stopped mid-thought. It’s useless to dwell on the past. There was nothing to be done about it.

_Father died here. Margaery died here. .Ser Loras as well…_

She was stepping into a city that she once thought was full of life but now only reminded her of nothing but death.

Sansa could see that they were close to approaching the Red Keep. Half of its towers and most of the ramparts were broken, crumbled or else lost entirely. Sansa then noticed that the nearer they drew to the Red Keep’s front gates, more Unsullied soldiers appeared standing on the side of the roads as still as statues.

Their bannermen parted their horses to let Sansa and Jon through so they could make their way towards the outer courtyard of the Red Keep. Sansa tried her best to pass an encouraging smile to the men but she saw only fear and trepidation in their gazes and the smile didn’t stay on her face for long.

When they finally reached the front lines of their troops, they pulled their horses to a halt. Standing at the foot of the steps that led up to Red Keep were the small council of the Dragon Queen surrounded by men clad in brown and black furs holding curved blades that looked like the scythes used to harvest wheat.

_Those must be the Queen's Dothraki._

Sansa’s gaze then met those of her former husband who stood at the bottom of the steps and gave her a brief smile.

Lord Edmure Tully and her cousin Sweetrobin were already dismounted and were awaiting their arrival as well at the front.

A soldier came to assist Sansa off her horse, while Jon dismounted easily, throwing his heavy cape over his shoulders, revealing the white wolf pommel of his bastard sword.

“Your Grace.” Lord Tully greeted Jon with a rapid bow of his head. Jon nodded to him as he walked past.

Then turning to her, he said with a warmer smile, “Lady Stark.”

“Uncle.” Sansa responded as her uncle reached for her gloved hand and gave it a chaste kiss.

Sansa then shifted her eyes to her young cousin but Lord Sweetrobin was distracted by the dragons flying overhead as he stared at the skies, mouth agape. She gave a soundless sigh and made her way towards their welcoming party.

She and Jon stopped in front of Lord Tyrion Lannister, dressed in a black doublet streaked with red tassles, a silver Hand of the Queen pin over his right breast. His blonde hair was longer and wilder and a thick dark blonde beard covered his once smooth face.

The last time she saw Tyrion was at Joffrey’s wedding. Joffrey was choking and gagging on the ground. Tyrion had walked up to where the wine glass that Joffrey was drinking had fallen. Ser Dontos had stolen her away before she could say or do anything more.

Sansa felt a twinge of guilt as she looked upon her former husband’s face.

Looking towards the other individuals behind him, the only faces she recognized were those of Lady Olenna, who gave her a motherly nod and Lord Varys, the Spider with his oily smile and observant eyes.

“My lady Sansa Stark.” Tyrion said, he extended a hand towards her and Sansa with a forced polite smile gave him her hand to kiss.

“Lord Tyrion. It’s… been some time.” She stated, an awkward tension evident between them.

“Indeed, it has. Perhaps while you and your King are here, we may find some idle time to talk about the years since we last saw each other.”

Sansa gave him a slight nod, “Of course, my lord.”

The Queen's Hand then turned to her brother and gave a courteous bow of his head.

“The Queen welcomes you, King in the North. You no longer look like the naïve bastard I left at the Wall.” Tyrion commented with a wry grin.

 “Thank you for receiving us, Lord Tyrion. I could say the same for you, Hand of the Queen to a Targaryen, quite an impressive turn for a Lannister dwarf from Casterly Rock.” Jon responded.

Sansa wanted to glare at him but thought against it as Lord Tyrion seemed more amused than offended.

“Lady Stark and I are… quite eager to meet with the Queen.” Jon said in a forced cordial tone.

Tyrion gave a soft chuckle, “Of course you are. Thank you for travelling all this way. I’m sure you’re both exhausted from your long journey. The Great Hall is unfortunately not available for use so you will have your audience in the Queen's Ballroom of Maegor's Holdfast.”

A small group of black steel armored knights with blood red cloaks from behind Lord Tyrion walked down the steps.

“This is Ser Barristan, the Lord Commander of the Queensguard. He and his men will escort you all to your chambers. You will be summoned when the Queen is ready to receive you. Food and drink will be waiting for you.” Lord Tyrion explained.

Sansa remembered Ser Barristan from before. Joffrey had him removed from his Kingsguard. The image of him throwing down his armor and sword in front of Cersei and Joffrey was something she could not easily forget.

“Ser Barristan. It’s good to see you again.” Sansa said with a genuine smile.

Ser Barristan squinted his eyes at her before he slowly smiled back, “Lady Sansa? You’ve grown into quite a beautiful woman, I hardly recognized you.”

“You flatter me, ser.” Sansa replied, “I am glad that you were able to find a better ruler to serve after Joffrey.”

“Yes, my lady, I am glad to see you’ve found a better future for yourself as well.” To this he turned to Jon and tilted his head forward in respect, “Your father would have been proud of you both.”

“Thank you, Ser Barristan.” Jon answered, “I grew up hearing stories of Ser Barristan the Bold. It is an honour and a privilege, ser.”

Jon extended his hand and Ser Barristan clasped it.

Ser Barristan then turned and started up the staircase. Sansa gave her brother a brief look before they followed after the Lord Commander. Members of the Queensguard flanking them as they ascended the steps towards the Red Keep.

\------

Sansa swirled the wine in her glass as she lay against the back of her chair, looking out the window which faced the Narrow Sea.

Jon was seated at the other side of the room, occupying himself with writing orders and messages to the North and the various castles along the Wall where most of the wildlings were currently occupying. Ghost was curled up underneath the desk.

Aside from the sound of a few gulls, Sansa could only hear the scratching of quill on parchment.

Sansa sighed, the sun was nearly about to set. She wondered how much longer did they have to wait.

There was a knock on their door and both of them looked up to see who it was.

“Your Grace. My lady.” Ser Davos greeted as he walked inside, “The Queen awaits.”

“Thank you, Ser Davos.” Sansa said with a sign of relief as she rose from her seat.

Looking to Jon who had laid his quill aside, she asked, “Are you ready?”

“Do I have a choice in that matter?” Came the gruff reply.

“No, I suppose not.” Sansa answered, “But be prepared anyway.”

Jon said nothing further as he stood from his chair. Ghost immediately lifting his head and then following closely beside the King.

Jon had decided to forego his bulky Northern cloak in favor of a woolen dark-blue brocade cape. He also had his silver armour removed but kept his metal gorget with the two direwolf heads emblazoned on the front as well as his silver gauntlets.

The crown of winter rested heavily upon his brow and around his leather belt were his small dagger and his sword, Longclaw.

The King and his sister were escorted by a small faction of Queensguard men towards the Queen's ballroom which was at the lowest level of Maegor's Holdfast. Ser Davos and a handful of Stark soldiers were by their side as well.

Sansa felt her heart tighten at the memory of the last time she had been in the Queen's ballroom. She was sitting by Cersei's feet as Stannis Baratheon and his men waged war on the shores of King's Landing. Cersei had told her that the best weapon a woman had was what was between her legs. Sansa winced at the memory, Cersei thought herself to be both wise and crass but neither gave her any joy or glory at the end of that night.

As they came to the door of the Queen's Ballroom, an Unsullied guard came forward blocking their path.

“We’ve been asked to relinquish our weapons, Your Grace.” Ser Davos murmured in Jon's ear.

Jon started to unbuckle his leather belt, “Then do so.”

After her brother and his men had given up their weapons to the Queen's men, the doors of the ballroom were opened for them.

The Queen's Ballroom was almost as large as Winterfell's Great Hall. On the walls were Targaryen banners hanging from the ceiling. The carpet was a dusty rose color that had dulled from age and the room had been rearranged to mimic a smaller version of the throne room. The chairs had been removed save for the ones at the opposite side of the room where the Queen's small council were seated.

At the very center of them was a tall chair upon which sat the Dragon Queen, Daenerys Stormborn. The Queensguard stood behind her chair while the Hand of the Queen was a few steps before her.

_She is beautiful…_

That was the first thought that crossed Sansa's mind. The Targaryen Queen was much younger than Sansa had expected. The Queen's famed silver hair was arranged in a variety of braids that came to rest over her shoulder. Red and black ribbons tied the end of the braided strand. The rubies of the Queen’s crown looked newly polished and the other jewels on the Queen’s fingers didn’t escape Sansa's eye either.

The Queen was clad in an elaborate black gown with long broad sleeves. Upon her bodice was an embroidered dragon in blood-red threads. She had a straight, but relaxed posture on the throne with both her hands folded on her lap.

As Sansa and Jon approached her, it was then that she took note of the Queen's light amethyst eyes. Sansa had seen different shades of blue and purple in many of the other nobles who used to claim some form of Targaryen heritage but she had never before seen the lilac shade that the Queen possessed.

She spotted her uncle and cousin standing at the front accompanied by a few of their bannerman and she nodded at them 

“All hail Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Liberator of the Bay of the Dragons. Mhysa to the Oppressed. Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. The Unburnt. Rh’llors’ Promised One. The Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons!” Lord Tyrion announced, the titles rolling off a well-rehearsed tongue.

“Long May She Reign!” Tyrion cried out with a raised hand.

“Long May She Reign!” The lords and ladies in the room echoed.

The Queen’s eyes lingered on Jon and the large direwolf at his side for a few moments before turning to Sansa.

Steeling herself, Sansa stepped forward before the Queen and gave a low curtsey.

“Your Grace, Lady Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell.” Lord Tyrion announced.

The Queen gave her a tepid smile, “Lady Stark. Lord Tyrion has told me tales of your resilience and compassion but not of your beauty.”

Sansa felt a blush tinge her cheeks, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“I assume you’re here to speak of your proposal.” The Queen said leaning forward and resting her chin on her knuckles.

“Indeed I am, Your Grace.” Sansa answered.

Then she turned to Jon, “I present my brother, Jon Snow of House Stark. The White Wolf. Victor of the Battle of the Bastards. Former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Friend to the Freefolk and…the King in the North.”

Jon had kept his hand on Ghost since the time they entered. At the mention of his name, he walked before the Queen and bowed his head only slightly.

“Your Grace.” Jon stated in his thick Northern drawl.

There was a glint of amusement in the Queen's amethyst eyes as she scrutinized him.

“Does your direwolf accompany you to all your meetings, Lord Snow?” The Queen asked.

“Only the important ones.” He replied dryly, “And I am _King_ in the North, Your Grace.”

Sansa flashed her brother a stern glance but his eyes were focused on the Queen.

Daenerys tilted her head, “But I am not from the North, my lord, and neither did I name you as such. The North is still a part of my Seven Kingdoms. There can be no King in the North while I rule.”

“Which is why we have come.” Sansa interjected, “Long have our people suffered fighting the wars of southern rulers. My brother and I have fought hard to reclaim the North from those who took it from us. I’m sure Your Grace can understand our hardship as you yourself have sacrificed so much to take back your own home.”

“Was it not your brother Robb Stark, the previous self-proclaimed King in the North, that voluntarily participated in the War of the Five Kings? He was no southern ruler yet thousands of Northern lives were lost because he dared to march his armies south.”

Sansa did not wince, “I do not deny that truth, Your Grace. But Joffrey beheaded our father under false charges of treason. Robb only did what he did to avenge our lord father's death and to rescue me and our sister who were held captive here by the Lannisters. The same Lannisters who sought to claim your throne.”

“Where is your sister now?” The Queen asked.

“We do not know. We have not seen or heard from our sister Arya in many years. She fled the capital around the time our lord father was imprisoned.”

“Your father…” Daenerys tightened her fists, “Eddard Stark. He assisted the usurper Robert Baratheon in taking away my family's throne.”

“With all respect, Your Grace,” Sansa began, “Your father burned our uncle and grandfather alive. Your brother kidnapped our aunt. Was it treason to seek vengeance for the lives of the ones our lord father loved and lost?”

The Queen paused and lifted an eyebrow, visibly impressed, “You speak quite eloquently, Lady Stark. Your words have indeed moved me and I see no fault in your answers. What would you have of me?”

“To maintain our rule over the North as well as the Vale and the Riverlands, my brother asks for your hand in marriage.” Sansa stated with a lifted head, “If it please, Your Grace, my brother is still quite young and has never been married. As a compromise and to avoid the bloodshed that a civil war might bring, we ask that you accept our proposal and be a part of our family… and our home.”

It was an oft-practiced line that Sansa had been reiterating every day since they had left Winterfell. She hoped that her efforts were not in vain.

Daenerys leaned back on her chair and her eyes turned back to Jon.

“And what say you to this arrangement, Lord Snow?” The Queen asked the King in the North who had remained silent throughout her exchange with Sansa.

 _Please… just say what we agreed upon before._ Sansa begged him in her head.

“My sister has made a bold proposal on my behalf.” Jon began, “But I would be remiss to not see the sound reasoning behind it. In truth, we would not win any war waged against your dragons or your armies. I did not become King in the North just to watch my people burn. Our House words are “Winter is Coming”. Winter is here, Your Grace, and the North, now more than ever, needs the support of the South if we wish to survive.”

He paused a moment and looked at Sansa who gave him an encouraging nod, “When I lived with the Free Folk beyond the Wall, I learned their ways and like them, I do not easily kneel to any southern ruler. But…”

At this, Jon, with extreme hesitation, took a step closer to the Queen and slowly bent his knee, “But for the lives of my people, for the North, the Eyrie and Riverrun, for the Freefolk and for all of us who wish to live out the winter storms, I kneel. Not to give up my crown but only to ask Your Grace if she would grant me the honor of being my wife, to whom I would swear my sword, my life… and my love.”

The small council murmured as they whispered to each other. Even Tyrion seemed surprised.

Sansa could feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest. Hoping against hope that it was enough to sway the Queen.

The Queen rose from her seat. She then regarded her suitor on his knee carefully before walking towards him, the long train of her black gown trailing behind her.

She stopped in front of him, so close that the skirts of her dress brushed against his boot.

“If I do accept, would the Lords of the Vale and the Riverlands bend their knees as well?” She asked, a dark flame in her eyes as she turned to Lord Edmure Tully.

Lord Tully cleared his throat multiple time before stuttering; “A-as the Queen to our King, Y-your Grace, we-we will serve you as such.”

“The Vale and Lord Arryn concur. Our allegiance is to House Stark. We would bend our knee to the wife of the King in the North and serve her as we would him.” Ser Yohn Royce answered for Lord Arryn who was nearly falling asleep on his feet.

The lips of the Queen tightened and her eyes narrowed.

Sansa knew the answers didn’t completely satisfy the Queen. She wanted absolute reign and the marriage did not exactly guarantee that. But Sansa knew they had driven an extremely difficult bargain.

_What shall it be, Daenerys? Seven Kingdoms or four?_

Sansa could tell the wheels were turning in the Queen's mind, she gave a brief glance to her Hand who gave the smallest of nods to her.

“Very well.” The Queen finally responded with gritted teeth.

Looking down at Jon, the Queen offered him her hand. The King took it gingerly and brought her hand close enough to brush his lips against her skin before she pulled it back from him.

“Lady Stark,” The Queen said, a formal tone masking the rage in her voice, “I, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and the Mother of Dragons accept your brother's proposal.”

Sansa felt her heart almost give out, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

The Queen was not amused as she returned to sit at her throne-like chair. Jon stood on his feet just as quickly when the Queen moved away from him.

“I’m sure there are a variety of matters and more tedious details to be discussed between my advisors and yours.” The Queen stated, “But before any agreements are to be made, I want a word with the King in the North, alone. Tonight.”

Sansa's eyes widened and she and her brother exchanged a look.

“Ser Barristan will bring you to me.” The Queen indicated dismissively, “Until then, you all have my leave to go.”

Sansa bowed her head. The other men and lords followed suit, but Jon kept his head held high before he turned back towards the door with Ghost at his side.

Stark, Tully and Arryn soldiers filed out of the ballroom behind their lords.

When they had left the ballroom, Sansa didn’t realize how cold and clammy her hands had gotten.

As she flexed her fingers while they walked, she noticed her brother and Ser Davos in a hushed, intense conversation at her side.

She gave them a curious glance and Ser Davos caught her eye.

“What’s going on?” Sansa asked.

“There’s been a raven, my lady. From Castle Black.” Ser Davos relayed.

There was a look on Jon’s face that made Sansa’s stomach turn with worry, “And?”

It was Jon who answered her instead, his grey eyes were uncannily filled with strong emotion,

“It’s Bran. They found him. He’s alive.”

 

* * *

 

DAENERYS

Dany stood outside the Dragonpit, a dark red cloak draped around her shoulders, the cold night wind blowing wisps of her silver hair across her face.

The wretched screams of men from the inside of the pit pierced the evening air followed by the roars and snarls of her dragons. As much as Dany wanted to revel in the agony of her enemies, she only felt a cold hardness in her as the bright red flames of dragonfire that seeped out of the cracks and broken walls reflected in her eyes.

She then heard the sound of heavy boots thudding on the dusty road coming from behind her.

“Your Grace.” It was the low timbre of Ser Barristan’s voice.

“You may leave us, Ser Barristan, thank you.” Dany said without turning around.

“But, Your Grace--”

“I’m sure if the King in the North had any intentions of harming me, he should be aware that my dragons are but a stone’s throw away. The Unsullied are also standing close by. I am completely safe.” Dany said as she folded her arms in front of her.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Her Lord Commander replied, “The rest of the Queensguard and myself shall remain at a distance if you shall have any need of us.”

When Ser Barristan’s footsteps faded away, Dany slowly turned to face her betrothed.

“My Lord Snow.”

“Your Grace.”

"I see you've come without your direwolf."

"He usually hunts at night."

"Hmm."

Before he walked into the Queen’s Ballroom, Dany was unsure what to expect from a Northern King. From the way Viserys used to talk about the Northerners, she was expecting a burly, unwashed brute who smelled of sheep dung and wet fur.

Yet, when Jon Snow entered with his large white direwolf by his side, he was the furthest thing from what Dany had imagined him to be. He carried himself with a confidence and gravity that she had not seen in any man since her Khal had passed from this life. This King knew the power he yielded and Dany couldn’t help but feel both intrigued and wary of this mysterious man with his somber grey eyes and his gruff Northern voice.

He was probably no older than she was, though his dark beard and sunken eyes hid his true age.

Standing before her now, Dany paused as she looked him over. He was clad in a much heavier wolf-pelted cloak. He was absent his crown and his long dark brown hair was tied in a knot behind his head. He was unarmed and he had also left behind any piece of armor, clad in only his long grey gambeson, black breeches and long black boots.

_He's definitely not an ugly brute…_

“I want to show you something.” She said with a small smile as she turned and started walking towards the Dragonpit.

She listened closely to ensure he was following after her, the scraping of his boots against the road proved that he was.

As they entered the Dragonpit, her Unsullied soldiers passed them carrying out men in Lannister armour who were sobbing uncontrollably or who had fainted from exhaustion, starvation or fear.

As she and the Northern King walked unto the sands of the Dragonpit, Viserion and Rhaegal both looked up at her. Drogon was perched on the roof and he roared into the air before breathing flames that lit up the darkened arena.

“I thought it important to introduce my betrothed to my children before we are wed.” Dany stated as she looked back at the King in the North with a proud smile.

Viserion snapped his jaws while Rhaegal snarled at the newcomer standing next to their mother.

“The black and red one is Drogon, he is the one I ride. I named him for my first husband Drogo. These other two, Viserion the gold and Rhaegal the green one, take the names of the brothers I’ve lost.” She pointed out.

Dany watched the Northerner closely to see his reaction. She saw his breathing had quickened and there was a shine of terror in his grey eyes. Yet he remained steadfast and did not waver even when Viserion gave a vicious roar on his direction.

“If you would have been here earlier, you would have seen what my children do to my enemies.” Dany stated gesturing to the new set of bones covered in blackened ash before her dragons.

At this, the Northern King turned to look at her, “Do you mean the innocent men whose screams I heard on my way here?”

“Innocent?” Dany retorted fiercely, “You would call the soldiers who fought for Cersei Lannister innocent?”

“They were just men obeying orders.” Jon Snow responded.

“Even if those orders were to lock men, women and children into their homes before Cersei burned them all down with her wildfire? These men raped, looted and terrorized the good people of this city long before I reached Westeros. Do you think any of them cared? No. They only answered to their Mad Queen Cersei Lannister. I came to give the people of King’s Landing justice.” Dany explained, her words caustic and her gaze sharp.

“Feeding men to your dragons is what you call justice?” He asked, a level of ire in his tone.

“The priestesses of the red god like to say that death by fire is the purest death.” Dany stated calmly, “From what I hear, it’s a quicker death than being ripped apart by wolves.”

“That was different.” He argued.

Her amethyst eyes narrowed, “No it wasn’t. Ramsay Bolton deserved his fate same as these men.”

Then she walked closer to him, a hint of a smirk on her lips, “Do not presume that the manner in which I punish those who stand against me is any different to what you yourself would have done. How else does the King in the North deal with his enemies? Do you kill them? Torture them? Or would you grant them undeserved mercy?”

“It depends on the enemy,” He replied unflinchingly, “Sometimes I marry them.”

To this answer, Dany couldn’t help but laugh.

_One thing’s for sure, this man isn’t as dull as I thought he would be._

“Do you think me your enemy, Jon Snow?”

The Northerner’s face remained unchanged, “I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t, Your Grace.”

Dany’s smile remained, “That’s bold of you to say as you stand here in front of my children. When I just told you what becomes of my enemies when they enter this pit.”

“You can kill me at any time you wish, Your Grace. It’s clear I have as much say in the matter as the men whose ashes lie beneath our feet.” The King in the North remarked.

Dany couldn’t help but be impressed. These Starks were far more intelligent than her brother had made them out to be. Though she wasn’t keen on his abrasive directness, Dany was amused by his unwavering resolve. He was far from sycophantic, but he was not entirely insolent either.

“You surprise me, my lord.” The Queen chuckled as she walked closer to him and rested her hand on his chest, “But I have no intention of killing my future husband. At least, not today. After all, what would your beautiful sister think if I reneged on my word? She might let that direwolf of yours tear out my throat.”

To this, Jon Snow gave no response.

Dany walked away from him and towards her dragons. Viserion drew close to her while Rhaegal played with a large bone. Drogon gave a throaty growl as he bent his head to sniff his mother.

“ _Sȳz bantis ñuha dōna {Good night, my sweetlings.}”_ She sang out, giving Viserion a gentle pat on his snout before she stepped back and turned towards the Northerner.

She strode past him and made her way towards the gates of the Dragonpit. He followed a few steps behind. When they had left the sandy arena, Dany pulled her cloak more tightly around her. The warmth of her children's den slowly dissipating into the cold night.

Dany turned her head towards him, “I was mistaken to have taken you for a quiet man, my lord. You barely said a word in the Queen's Ballroom. Save, of course, for your actual proposal. Yet I find that you are far more vocal than I expected you to be.”

“The realm of politics is more my sister's domain than mine.” He replied, “I can speak better with a sword in my hand than a crown on my head.”

Dany hummed, “Is that the reason why I had to bear witness to that mummer's farce you both put on for me earlier?”

He avoided meeting her gaze and Dany continued in a knowing tone, “Do you think you’re the first to try and sway me with clever words and oaths of fealty? I spent my whole life learning to master that tongue. How else do you think my brother and I were able to survive all those years running from one magister to the next?”

“We just want to survive as well, Your Grace. Behind all the pretty words, we told you no lies.” He said with certainty.

“So by marrying me, you and your sister hope to maintain rule over three of my Seven Kingdoms?” Dany responded, tightening her grip around her arms.

“Lady Stark has made our intentions quite clear as to the conditions of our alliance.”

Dany huffed with annoyance, “I could just as easily kill you all and take your lands for myself.”

“You can try, Your Grace. Aegon the Conqueror himself would not have claimed the North so easily were it not for Torrhen Stark who bent the knee. The North is a wild, hard land and the people more so. You can burn them all away, as it is in your power to do so but the North will always remember, Your Grace and the Northerners follow the old ways of executing justice.”

Another amused smile crossed Dany's face, “Was that a threat, Lord Snow?”

“You took me to your dragons after feeding your prisoners to them. You had a chance to make your threats, I think it only fair to do the same.” He answered back humorlessly.

_How dare he?_

Yet, strangely, she felt neither offended or intimidated. Instead, his fearless answers said with sincere and brutal honesty caused that old stirring to wake within her once more. She felt her breath catch in her throat and then she laid a hand on his chest to stop him in his path as she moved in front of him.

“Your sister certainly made her intentions clear. What of yours?” she asked in low voice.

“My intention is to marry you, Your Grace, if you would have me.”

Dany had never before met a man who could so easily turn a phrase of romance into a pragmatic statement of fact stripped of any sentiment.

“Those pretty words you said. How did it go again? ‘I swear to you my sword, my life… and my love.’” Dany taunted, the last few words she intentionally enunciated, letting the sound linger on your lips.

“Do you think you could ever love me, King in the North? I, the Mother of Dragons? Who can dare to love a dragon?” She pressed herself against him, her face inches from his own.

She saw the muscles of his jaw tighten and felt him stiffen under her touch. A full, round moon casting its silver light on the both of them, two dark silhouettes standing in the middle of a dusty road.

Dany gave a soft sigh, her breath on his jaw and she watched as his throat constricted, swallowing hard. There was a shimmer of emotion in his grey eyes and Dany knew that underneath his cold Northern exterior, there was a hot-blooded young man that she was having an effect on.

“I look forward to our wedding night.” She whispered into his ear before she stepped back from him with a dark teasing look in her eyes, “I pray you don’t disappoint me, Jon Snow.”

As Dany turned her back on the Northern King, her Queensguard came to her side almost immediately. Unsullied soldiers appearing out of the darkness following behind them.

The Queen disappeared into the distance while the King in the North fists were trembling as he stood alone in the cold night, his eyes fixated in the direction that she had gone.


	4. I Take This Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small Council plans a wedding. Tyrion is done with Varys' nonsense. Jonerys wedding and wedding feast - but it's not super happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends.
> 
> So again, this was initially going to be a longer chapter but I decided to cut out Jon's POV with the wedding night as I need to work on it a bit more and I wanted to add more stuff to it as well as I realized the wedding night also needed the morning after sequence and this chapter is already longer than I wanted it to be. So the next update should be quicker than this one, but patience is appreciated.
> 
> Thank you to all those who've been reading and who've been supporting this story. Shoutout to my Jonerys discord peeps for the help in answering all my questions! This goes out to y'all. 
> 
> Alright, read on and hope you enjoy!

* * *

TYRION

“… tomorrow night? Your Grace, I must intervene, this is quite irregular and next to impossible!” stated the newly appointed Grand Maester Hivam.

The Small Council Chamber was a lot more crowded that morning due to the presence of the King in the North, his sister, his advisors and his allies.

“I agree. We do not have enough coin to fund a grand royal wedding in less than a days’ time. After all, it is the first festive occasion of the realm since Your Grace reclaimed the Seven Kingdoms. Should we not have at least three months’ time to plan and spend for a wedding of such note?” The Queen of Thorns opined.

“Indeed. Might I ask the reason for this immediacy? We aren’t under threat of war, are we?” added the Princess Arianne of Dorne, as she lightly twirled a curl of brown hair in her fingers.

Jon Snow looked like he was about to speak before Sansa placed a hand on his arm. Tyrion eyed that small gesture suspiciously.

“Winter has arrived in the North, my lords and my ladies.” Sansa started, “The North is in dire need of the King's presence and leadership as we prepare our people for what may yet be the worst winter in memory. We cannot stay long in the South, I’m afraid.”

“My dear, winter comes and goes in this godsforsaken country. A wedding between a Stark and Targaryen is already unprecedented as it is.” Lady Olenna chirped, though she had a gentler look on her face when speaking to Sansa.

There was a murmur around the table as the Small Council spoke over each other.

Then the Queen stated over them, “That is enough.”

The room hushed quickly as Daenerys leaned back on her chair, a bitter glare on her face, “It seems my Lord Snow is an eager and impatient man. Though it disheartens me that the motivation for a quick wedding stems more from a preference to return to his frozen castle rather than in marrying his Queen.”

“But,” The Queen sighed as she looked over at the Grand Maester and her Master of Coin, “My first wedding was hardly an enjoyable one and I doubt this one would be any different. I don’t see a need to waste so much coin, Lady Olenna, in funding such an affair when it could go to those who need it more. As for you, Grand Maester, I’m sure as always, you would be willing make an exception by order of Your Queen.”

“But, Your Grace, as the Lady Olenna has mentioned, it would take days, weeks even to assemble a proper entourage for you and what of the wedding guests? Surely we should be sending invitations across the land?” The Grand Maester insisted.

“I would much rather face a thousand spears than be gawked at by nobles of irrelevant families and Houses.” The Queen responded.

“But, Your Grace—”

“I will hear no more of it, Grand Maester!” The Queen snapped, “The King in the North and I will be wed tomorrow evening. The rightful representatives of each of the Seven Kingdoms are already in this room. I have the Reach, Dorne and the Iron Islands on my council while my betrothed brings the North, the Vale and the Riverlands.”

“What of the Stormlands and the Westerlands, Your Grace?” Lord Varys asked.

At this, the Queen looked to her Hand, “We still have a Lannister in our midst. As for the Stormlands, the usurpers’ bannermen can stand to miss one Targaryen wedding. We can discuss about what becomes of the Baratheons’ stronghold and lands after I am wed. Though if it were up to me, I would return Storm’s End to the sea for all the pain its lords have wrought upon my family.”

It seemed that the Queen had settled that squabble.

_I wonder how many more are there to go?_

Tyrion pinched the bridge of his nose. It was barely noon and already his throat was parched for a large pitcher of Arbor Red.

“As for the ceremony, Your Grace, shall we call for a septon?” The Grand Maester asked as he scribbled the notes of their meeting down on parchment.

Dany sighed once more, she had a glazed look in her eyes as she turned to look out the window.

_The Queen is getting bored…_

That wasn’t always a good thing. The last time the Queen was bored, she took her dragons and razed a slave master’s fleet of ships docked at a port just for the fun of it.

“I’ve never been much of a pious woman.” The Queen answered listlessly, “It matters not to me.”

“Our House keeps to the old gods, Your Grace.” Sansa added, “I believe the godswood here was unharmed by the wildfire, I used to pray there often when I was a young girl.”

“Would the King in the North wish to swear his wedding vows in front of an oak tree instead of the traditional weirwoods of the North?” This time Tyrion spoke up, looking at Jon.

The Northerner’s Onion Knight whispered something to him and his sister. Sansa added in her own opinion in a low voice and Jon gave her a brief nod.

“We see no issue, my lord. My brother would be happy to wed the Queen in front of the heart tree of her godswood. Perhaps, when it suits the King and Queen, they could journey north to renew their vows in front of the weirwood at Winterfell.”

Yet Jon Snow did not look the least bit happy as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

_Seems the Queen is not the only restless one here._

“It still might be wise to have a septon present, Your Grace. Most of the smallfolk still keep to the Faith of the Seven.” Lord Varys suggested.

“We should have a priest or priestess of Rh'llor there as well, my queen.” Tyrion added, “You are their promised one after all.”

Tyrion noticed the sour look on the Spider's face and yet he wasn’t the man who had spoken up at this recommendation.

“Forgive me for speaking out of turn, Your Grace, but this red god and their priestesses are not to be trusted. They burn innocents as sacrifices to their Lord of Light. Stannis Baratheon himself followed the mad ravings of a red woman. They bring only ruin and death.” Ser Davos Seaworth addressed the Queen, his voice heavy with emotion and fury.

The King in the North gave his advisor a stern look and Tyrion could hear Ser Davos apologize to him under his breath. But this short outburst at least held the Queen’s attention.

“I thank you for your words of candor, Ser Davos, but the followers of the Lord of Light have done much to help secure my reign in Essos and they have been doing the same since I've brought them here.” Said the Queen, “Grand Maester, you may invite a septon and a red priestess to the feast to give their own blessing to us after the ceremony in the godswood concludes. Essos was a land that welcomed followers of many different faiths, I will ensure Westeros will do so as well.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” The Grand Maester responded, writing his notes furiously.

 _Gods, let that be the last of it._ Tyrion silently prayed.

“Erm, one last thing, Your Grace.” said the Grand Maester.

There seemed to be a silent but collective groan among the attendants in the room. It was probably nearing the three-hour mark since they had sat down together to discuss the many aspects of the wedding.  

 _I am never marrying again, if I can help it._ Tyrion thought grimly.

“It is in regards to the legitimization of the King in the North.” The Grand Maester stated, his gaze flicking carefully towards the Northern King.

“And why would there be a need to discuss that, Grand Maester?” Jon Snow asked through gritted teeth.

“I beg your pardon, my lord, but you are bastard-born are you not?” The Grand Maester asked rather pointedly.

A heavy tension immediately fell on the room and Tyrion sat up straighter in his seat.

_This should be interesting._

_“_ A bastard would not be a fit consort for the Queen who herself is directly descended from a line of true-born Targaryen royalty. It is simply impossible to regard a bastard as the next--”

Before the Grand Maester could finish, Jon stood abruptly from his seat, slamming his palms flat on the table.

The Queensguard had their hands on their sword hilts but Danerys raised her hand to stop them. There was a shadow of an intrigued smile on her lips as she watched her betrothed from across the table.

Dark fury seemed to emanate from him as he spoke, “I came into this world, a bastard. I grew up as a bastard. I led the Night’s Watch and the Free Folk as a bastard. I was named King in the North despite being a bastard. Stannis Baratheon himself, though a false king, once tried to offer me the name Stark and I refused because as much as I’ve always wanted to be my father’s true-born son, no piece of parchment can erase the truth of who I am.”

This time he turned to Tyrion, who returned his dark grey gaze with a curious one, “I am a bastard, I’ll always be one. A clever lord once told me that I should never forget who I am and to wear it like armor, and I have.”

Tyrion couldn’t help but smile. He remembered that night so clearly despite being heavily inebriated at that point. But the man standing at the other end of the table in his Northern armor and iron crown was far from the green, whiskerless boy hacking at a wooden post in Winterfell’s courtyard all those years ago.

“So I will marry the Queen as a bastard or I do not and everything we have done to be here will be for nothing.” He finished. His eyes now turned to the Queen.

The young Targaryen Queen had a glint of delight in her pale amethyst eyes as she leaned forward on her chair.

“Though I would have enjoyed waiting to see if the King in the North would rip your head from your shoulders, Grand Maester, I feel that I would like to hear from the other members of my small council about this matter.” She said looking around at her advisors and leaning her elbow on the arm rest of her chair.

“I think it would do good for the people of Westeros to see a bastard become King, Your Grace.” Princess Arianne spoke, her thick Dornish accent coating each word, “At least for the Dornish people, we look more kindly on those who rise beyond the name they were given at birth. If the King in the North wishes to keep his name, let him.”

The Dornish Princess gave Jon Snow a coquettish wink as she crossed her legs and folded her arms. Tyrion couldn’t help but notice the tightening of the Queen's lips at this harmless action.

“As much as we like to think that we value tolerance, Princess, all of Westeros is not Dorne. Much of the Seven Kingdoms still consider bastards as… bastards. I think of the many Flowers who have come groveling at my feet just to be acknowledged as someone of worth. But they’re more like weeds than flowers, in my opinion.” The Queen of Thorns commented with her trademark sarcasm.

“Captain Greyjoy. You’ve been quiet for most of the meeting. What say you to all this?” The Queen asked.

Asha Greyjoy had both her legs propped up on the edge of the table and she had been picking her nails with a dagger.

The Master of Ships shrugged in response without looking up at the Queen, “S'long as a man or woman can fight and sail a ship like a proper Ironborn, it don’t matter what cocksucker birthed them.”

Sitting next to the Captain was Missandei, the Queen's Essosi ambassador, “I may not know much about bastards, Your Grace but you did marry a slaver's son in Meereen to appease the people of the city and bring unity. Would marrying a bastard over a proper true-born lord help ease the tensions with the noble Houses in Westeros?”

The Queen's eyes moved to her Master of Whisperers, “Perhaps you have an answer to that, Lord Varys?”

“It could very well go both ways, Your Grace. There will be those who will see the gesture as a positive sign of your leniency towards those of less noble birth, however there will be just as many who may be less likely to respect you for it.”

“Ever the decisive one, aren’t you, my lord?” The Queen questioned with an ironic smile.

The Spider bowed his head, indifferent to the evident to the caustic remark, “I am merely a conveyor of what I hear and what I see, Your Grace.”

Tyrion noticed the Queen subtly rolling her eyes before she looked straight at him, “My Lord Hand.”

He cleared his throat as he ran a hand down his scruffy dark blonde beard. Then looking at the Queen, he gave her a dry smile, “As Your Grace probably knows by now, I have always been drawn to bastards, cripples and broken things.”

Then he turned his green eyes to the King in the North, “A clever lord has also once said that all dwarves are bastards in their father's eyes.”

The Queen hummed as she then looked across at Jon Snow, “It seems my council seems divided on what to do about your bastardy, Lord Snow.”

Then she looked around the room, “It isn’t propitious for a marriage to begin with a husband resenting his wife for taking away something that matters to him. So instead, I will give to others what the King in the North will not take.”

“I will marry Jon Snow as he is, bastard name and all. What most concerns me are the people who answer to him and what our marriage will accomplish more than what he is called. I would have chosen differently if I was still ruling in Essos over the Bay of Dragons but I promised I would be a different kind of Queen here.” Then she turned to the Grand Maester, “Have word sent out throughout the Seven Kingdoms that the Crown will offer legitimacy to seven bastards of noble birth a month from our wedding, as a gift to the Houses who may be lacking a true-born heir.”

There was a raucous reaction from those who sat around the table and the Queen pushed her chair back to stand, silencing them all. Despite her small frame, the Queen’s powerful, commanding presence was one that none in the room dared to challenge.

The Targaryen ferocity was aflame in her amethyst eyes as she declared, “I have made my decision on the matter, my lords and my ladies, and by order of your Queen, this decision is final. If you have anything else to say on it you can do so in front of my children in the Dragonpit.”

Everyone rose quickly from their seats as the Queen brushed her chair aside and walked past all of them. Her Queensguard followed after her as she exited the Small Council Chamber.

Tyrion sat back down on his seat with a loud _plop_ and heaved a heavy sigh.

He watched as the King in the North engaged in a heated whispered exchange with his sister before they too left the room followed by their entourage.

Finally, it was just Tyrion and the Master of Whisperers left on the table.

“Well, that was riveting and taxing all at the same time.” Tyrion commented as he lay back in his seat, “Remind me to never let you people plan my wedding in the future. Though I doubt I’d be married off anytime soon. I wasn’t exactly the most successful with my last marriage.”

_Perhaps I can have that jug of Arbor Red right about now…_

He looked over and noticed the expression on the Spider’s face.

Tyrion exhaled audibly once more, “I know that face. That’s the face you make when something’s gone terribly wrong. Which would make the least bit of sense because we all got what we wanted, didn’t we? We restored our Targaryen Queen back on her family’s throne, my siblings are on the run and will be found and killed shortly after, and you, my good Spider, are back doing what you do best.”

“What I do best is ensuring that the realm is well-protected and served.” Lord Varys responded.

“And is it not?” Tyrion asked with a gesture of his hand, “The wars are over, my lord Spider, we have won.”

“Have we?”

Tyrion could feel the migraine he was battling all morning start to flare up as he rubbed his forehead.

“Perhaps my memory might be failing me. I wouldn’t be surprised if it is, what with my abuse of wine and the never-ending trauma of being a Lannister dwarf notwithstanding. But was it not you who convinced me to seek out this Targaryen girl because she was the ‘best chance Westeros had’? Do you remember?” 

“I remember.” Came the simple answer.

“Yet I feel like you have much, much more to say.” Tyrion continued wearily, “Is it not possible to have some semblance of peace for just a moment before we start questioning the questionable things we’ve done to get to where we are?”

Lord Varys eyebrow raised, “Do you think there will be peace when the smell of burning bodies becomes the new aroma of King’s Landing?”

“It’s a tad preferable to the old aroma of piss and shit.” Tyrion grumbled, “Again. I do not understand why you’re bringing this up as a concern. When we found Daenerys, do you remember what she was doing? She was feeding slave masters to her dragons or leaving them crucified on crosses to rot in the sun. Freed slaves were begging to be returned to their former masters and she kept them in barracks where disease, rape and poverty were found in abundance. ‘She is the last hope for the Seven Kingdoms’, that was what _you_ said.”

“Perhaps I was wrong.”

Tyrion groaned and shook his head, “No. Oh no. If ever there was time for regret or guilt, it isn’t now. We moved past that point a long time ago. Any chance we had to turn back was lost the moment we stepped into Meereen. We picked our side, we’ve fought our battles, and we have won.”

“Yes, look at us now, the great victors.”

Tyrion was in no mood for Varys’ passive aggressiveness, he had been sitting in a stuffy room debating nonsense for most of the day and he was done with it.

“If you don’t say what it is that you are dying to say. I am going to leave this room and find myself a large flask of wine to drown myself in.” Tyrion muttered angrily.

The Spider’s gaze was intense as he spoke, “Daenerys had three dragons and had just regained absolute control over three large cities. She had wealth, armies and power. The instability of the Seven Kingdoms under Baratheon and Lannister rule was tearing the country apart. The Dornish were at the brink of secession, the Iron Islands had claimed Euron Greyoy as their King, Stannis was trying to wrest the North from the Boltons, the Freys drove the Riverlands into debt and ruin, the roses were choking the lions in King’s Landing. Who do you think had the ability and the might to take it all with the least amount of bloodshed?”

“And she has! Even with Cersei blowing up half of King’s Landing to rubble, the lives that would have been lost had there been a long drawn-out siege would have been far greater.” Tyrion argued back.

Yet Lord Varys was clearly not backing down, “When my little birds told me about this Targaryen girl, I pictured a savior of the downtrodden. She had a heart for the weak and those in bondage, perhaps due to the fact that her beggar king of a brother practically treated her like a slave to be bought and sold. When her dragons were born, I saw the rise of a mythical hero, like the Targaryens of old. Then, she began her conquest of Slaver’s Bay and I imagined a ruthless warrior who could command armies and seduce the Ghiscari nobility all in the same breath.”

The look on his face then darkened, “But even when I saw the horrors that she was capable of, I still had hope that we could temper her spirit, advise her against her worst impulses and guide her towards the right and noble path.”

The meaning of Lord Varys’ words became instantly clear to Tyrion and he had no other choice but to chuckle, much to the Spider’s chagrin.

“Do you find the collapse of the realm amusing, my Lord Hand? I’ve served many kings and queens, many have failed the people in one form or another, I assumed at least this one would turn out differently than her father.” The Spider stated, an air of disappointment in his tone.

Tyrion sniffed back another chortle, “Ah, Varys. Do you think for a moment I believe any of that drivel of yours about caring for the people or the realm for that matter? Please, my friend, I’ve known you for many years. A caretaker of the Seven Kingdoms, you are not.”

The Hand of the Queen stood from his seat, “Do you think you’re the first to believe that a dragon could be tamed? Thousands of Lord Hands, including my lord father, believed that and they all got something completely different than what they expected.”

Tyrion shook his head slightly with a thin-lipped smile, “You can’t control this Targaryen, my Lord Spider, as young and impressionable as she might seem. This Dragon Queen is something else entirely. She’s not a mad woman like her father, she is a woman with a destiny and the iron-clad caliber to see herself achieve that destiny come what may. She’s the Mother of Dragons, what else did you expect from her?”

Feeling like he had said his piece, Tyrion made his way towards the door.

“This marriage. It’s going to be the death of this country.”

Tyrion stopped and turned to look at Varys, “Daenerys may be prone to her violent temper tantrums and obscure threats, but Jon Snow is nothing like her. He may yet stand a chance in doing what we both failed to do. The wonders of glorious, unfettered intercourse can be a balm to the hardiest of souls. Not that you would know anything about that, of course.”

“You don’t know this boy, my Lord Hand. The bastard king is not Ned Stark.” Varys cautioned, a shadowy undertone in his words.

“And thank the gods for that!” Tyrion responded emphatically, “Ned Stark lost his head for foolishly thinking that he could outplay my sister at a game she’s mastered since she knew what the word ‘queen’ meant. If Jon Snow is in any way, shape or form, smarter than his lord father was, the Seven Kingdoms will be all the better for it.”

The Spider said in a softer voice, “My little birds sing a different song in the North. Of things that defy all rational thought or reason. Dead people rising, creatures of legends walking beyond the Wall, and the former Lord Commander is somehow either in the middle of it or behind all of it. Why do you think he abandoned his vows and fought to take back his childhood home? Does that sound like the Jon Snow you knew?”

Tyrion shrugged, “Lord Commander Mormont was no different harping on the same thing. Talking of White Walkers or grumpkins and snarks or… I don’t even remember. This Jon Snow brought the wildlings to the Wall, I’m sure some of his sworn brothers weren’t too happy about that. The Night’s Watch fought the wildlings for years. Maybe he decided the conflict was too much to handle and he left.”

Varys stood from his chair and walked towards the Queen's hand, “You are not far from the truth, my lord. It would seem that the ire of his Night Watch brothers manifested itself in action and mutiny.”

Tyrion's brows furrowed, “You mean… they attacked him?”

“I mean they killed him.”

Tyrion paused in shock and then gave a laugh of disbelief, “Varys, you’ve been listening to the songs of old fishwives. Explain to me how Jon Snow was murdered and yet we saw him right here fighting to keep his bastard name.”

But the Spider’s face was as serious as the grave, “They say Stannis' red witch raised him from the dead.”

“Ah.” Tyrion nodded in feigned acceptance, “Of course she did. Perhaps she's been taking lessons from Thoros of Myr. I’ve heard he is said to have brought Beric Dondarrion back from the dead six times. Perhaps Jon Snow should have joined the Brotherhood without Banners instead, the Lord of Light is probably in need of a new resurrected man to add to his collection.”

“You jest today my Lord Hand, but I can assure you, nothing good comes from this religion of fire and darkness. We were mistaken to have trusted them.”

Tyrion waved his hand, “Now, you are just being paranoid.”

“Did you hear what Jon Snow did to the Boltons after he had retaken Winterfell? He tied Ramsay Bolton to a plank of wood, left him there naked and bloodied until the wolves came for him. He burned the Dreadfort to the ground and sent any living Bolton soldier to a life sentence on the Wall, right after he mutilated them of course. Taking a hand or a finger from them depending on the part they played.”

Varys rested a hand on the door, “If this Northerner truly has the red god’s power in him and it will most certainly have made his lust for blood as vicious as that of our Queen’s.”

“Thought you didn’t believe in this red god, Varys. Besides, the Boltons murdered his brothers and a thousand other Northerners. Not to mention what Sansa must have endured during her time as Lady Bolton. I have no sympathy whatsoever for the lot of them. Also, you know how the North deals with traitors. The fact that those soldiers escaped the aftermath of that battle with their lives and an order to take the black is more mercy than they deserve.”

Tyrion pulled the door open forcefully, causing Varys to draw back his hand.

“How long are you going to go on turning a blind eye to the chaos that is about to descend upon us all?” Lord Varys hissed at him.

Tyrion gave him an unimpressed look, “I consider myself a sensible man, Lord Varys, I’ll panic about the sky falling when it’s actually falling and not before. Now if you don’t mind, there is a bottle of wine calling my name and my mouth is as dry as an old whore’s cunt which, alas, is another thing you know nothing about. Good day.”

Before the Spider could get another word in, Tyrion slipped through the open door, and briskly walked down the stone-walled corridor putting as much distance as he could between himself and the Master of Whisperers.

_If this is what’s to become of my life. I should have drunk myself to death in Pentos, at least then I’d have had some semblance of peace and satisfaction._

But the words of the Spider lingered in Tyrion’s mind, much to his annoyance.

_The wheel still turns, as much as Daenerys wishes it broken._

Intentionally assisting his siblings to disappear was one thing but to scheme to remove the monarch he had just recently helped put on the throne was another matter. Daenerys was not Cersei, thank the gods, but Tyrion wasn’t sure if that was for the better or for the worse.

Daenerys was more powerful than his sister could ever dream to be with her dragons, armies, allies and now… with Jon Snow as her soon-to-be husband.

Tyrion pulled on his beard as he recounted what Varys had told him about the King in the North.

If by some dark magic Jon Snow had been brought back to life after being betrayed by his own men, then perhaps the Northerner would indeed pose a problem What if Varys was right? What if lurking inside that poor little bastard from Winterfell was some demon of Rh'llor just waiting to be unleashed on an unsuspecting city?

Tyrion groaned inwardly before silently chastising himself.

_It would be folly to listen to a weasel like Varys. It’ll only lead me ever closer to my deserved death._

Yet, the thoughts continued to fester. Was it a mistake to move forward with the marriage? Were they wrong to have brought Daenerys to Westeros? She seemed to be happy, more or less, ruling Meereen. Uprising slaver rebellions and a pompous cunt of a Meereenese husband aside.

_There’s nothing to be done. Daenerys is Queen. Who else could possibly take her place? There was no one dead or alive who could stand against her and survive. She’s the last Targaryen. Who could possibly come after her?_

Tyrion shook his head. There was to be a wedding held on the morrow.

_Better make sure there’s enough wine to go around._

At least that was what Tyrion thought would be a suitable activity that would help distract him and perhaps would wash out the horrible taste of treason that Varys had unwittingly left in his mouth.

* * *

 

DAENERYS

Dany sat on a high stool with a half-full goblet of wine in her hand as Missandei's fingers weaved through the Queen's long silver hair, using jeweled hairpins to hold the intricate braids.

Though Missandei was no longer her handmaiden, Dany would trust no one else to help prepare her for her wedding night.

_I’m going to be married…again… in a few hours._

It seemed that every new chapter for Dany began with a marriage.

Her marriage to Khal Drogo brought her out of Pentos and into the Dothraki Sea, breaking her from the girl she had been to the woman she became. When she took  Meereen, she married Hizdhar to prove that she was a Queen of compromise and diplomacy rather than the conquering foreigner who brought only blood and death in the wake of her justice. Now, after taking back everything's she’s wanted since she was a little girl, she had to once again become someone's wife in order to be the person she needed to be.

_Three… child of three… mother of three… wife of three…_

The whispers that she had heard in the House of Undying came flooding back to her.

_Three fires must you light... one for life and one for death and one to love..._

_Three mounts must you ride... one to bed and one to dread and one to love..._

_Three treasons will you know... once for blood and once for gold and once for love..."_

The whispers had also called the “bride of fire”, the “daughter of death”, and “the slayer of lies”.

Dany didn’t know what any of it meant. She wasn’t entirely sure if they even mattered. As she thought back, it seemed to her nothing but the distorted ramblings one finds in a waking dream. Yet the symbolism of three continued to hold a powerful significance in her life.

_Perhaps my third husband will be my final one…_

Dany’s mind then wondered how different life might have been like if she had been a mother of three human children as opposed to being the Mother of Dragons. Would she have had as many husbands? Would she have had any power at all? Would it matter? What good is power over the feel of a child in her arms?

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, pushing back the thought. It was too painful and it brought up too many difficult memories. She would not shed any tears this day if she could help it.

_Dragons do not weep..._

Just then, Dany felt Missandei’s hands leave her head and she opened her eyes to see her friend scamper towards the window.

“Look, Your Grace! There’s something falling from the skies!” She exclaimed.

Dany got up from her seat, leaving her glass of wine on her dressing table as she walked over to where Missandei was standing. She pushed open the lattice window and saw what looked to be cold white flakes falling down from the dark grey heavens.

The Queen couldn’t help but smile as she held out her pale hand, catching a few of the powdery flurries in her palm.

“It’s snow, Missandei.” Dany whispered.

She, herself, had never seen snow before. All her life, she had only known the dust and heat of Essos, from the manses of Pentos to the red bricked pyramids of Astapor. But she had read about snow in books and seen them in paintings hung in some rich magister’s home in Volantis or Lys when she was a child.

It was strangely beautiful. Cold, but beautiful.

When she pulled her hand back in to show Missandei, the crystals slowly turned to drops of water.

“When the weather turns colder, the water in the sky turns to snow and ice.” Dany explained, amused at Missandei’s innocent and child-like awe at the falling precipitation.

“That’s what winter is, isn’t it? When snow covers the land?” Missandei asked.

Dany nodded as she dried her hand on the skirts of her dress, “It is said that it snows all the time in the North, even during the summers.”

“I think it would be beautiful to live in a land covered in this.” Missandei stated as she reached her own hand out to catch a few snowflakes.

Dany chuckled lightly, “I don’t think you would want that, my dear friend. It may look beautiful but snow storms can be as deadly as fire and as lethal as a blade if you face it unprepared.”

There was a steady rap on her door that drew both of their attention away from the window.

Dany nodded to Missandei, who immediately proceeded towards her chamber doors. Dany watched as her advisor opened the door slightly and slipped outside.

A few seconds later, Missandei returned.

“Who is it?” Dany asked, her hands folded in front of her. Already she was armored with her Dragon Queen persona.

“It is Lady Stark, Your Grace.” Missandei answered.

_What does the she-wolf want now?_

Dany narrowed her eyes suspiciously and considered turning down the request but her curiosity got the better of her.

“Let her in.”

Missandei bowed as she opened the door once more to allow the Lady of Winterfell inside the Queen's chamber.

“Your Grace.” The red-headed girl stated in a soft voice as she walked inside and curtsied.

Dany took a moment to observe the sister of her betrothed with a careful eye. If she hadn’t been told that Sansa Stark was Jon Snow's half-sister, she wouldn’t even conjecture that they were related at all. Where he had dark brown locks and steel-grey eyes, his sister had long, thick and straight auburn hair that was simply braided at the crown and her gaze was that of bright aquamarine orbs.

 She was dressed in a dark grey, long-sleeved corseted gown, a thin hooded cloak trimmed with a lighter grey fur rested over her shoulders, clasped underneath her jaw with the Stark sigil pin. Around her neck was a circular necklace with a bar laid horizontally across it and a chain with a sharp metallic point was tucked into the belt of her gown.

In her arms, the Lady of Winterfell carried a bulky package wrapped in brown paper.

Dany thought she would have made a pretty handmaiden, if only she were not her future husband's sister.

“You catch me in the midst of preparing for my wedding, Lady Stark.” Dany said to her in a formal tone.

“My apologies, Your Grace.” Lady Stark answered, her eyes flitting cautiously to Missandei who was still standing by the door.

“I had hoped I might have a word with you alone, Your Grace.” Lady Stark said in a low apologetic voice.

Dany gave her a tight-lipped smile before she turned her eyes to Missandei, “ _Missandei, Umbagon va hen.  Māzigon arlī naejot nyke skori bisy tēmbi. {Missandei, stay outside by the door. Come back in once this one leaves.}”_

 _“Kessa, ñuha dāria. {Yes, my queen.}”_ Missandei replied, giving Lady Stark one last look before she stepped outside, closing the door behind her.

Dany gestured towards two chairs close to her fireplace, “Please, come and sit by me.”

Sansa bowed her head respectfully as she took a seat, laying her bundle on her lap.

Dany couldn’t help but take notice as she sat on the other chair across from her guest.

“Do you have something for me?” Dany asked as she rested her hands in her lap.

Sansa nodded, “I do, Your Grace. I thought Your Grace would like to have a closer look at your bridal cloak before tonight. The light in the godswood would not do it justice and I would want to hear your thoughts on it before my brother puts it over you.”

Lady Stark carefully unwrapped the package, revealing the sheen of snow-white fur.

Dany gazed at it in wonder as she reached a tentative hand towards the cloak, her fingers brushing over the pelt which felt as soft as the smoothest silk against her skin. She brushed back the fur to reveal a complex array of fine embroidery stitching in silver and gold threads on the woolen fabric.

Dany slowly lifted the cloak and let out a soft gasp of amazement. In red and white gems was a white direwolf facing a red dragon. The jewels gleamed by the firefight as Dany ran her pale fingers over them.

“This is… extraordinary. I’m at a loss for words.” Dany said as she lowered the garment back into its wrapping.

Sansa gave a small smile, “It took me forever to get the dragon right, I had never done one before.”

Dany's eyes widened, “You made this?”

“I did, Your Grace.” Sansa replied, a tinge of pink on her white cheeks.

Dany was astounded, “You have a special gift. I don’t believe that I’ve seen anything as beautiful as this before. Is this a white wolf pelt?”

“No, Your Grace. Wolf pelt is much too coarse and there aren’t too many white wolves around even up North. This was made from backs of ten white winter foxes that roam the forests just south of the Wall.”

_Fox fur?_

“I see.”

Sansa smiled again, “It took me a few weeks to put it all together, but the long journey south gave me the time I needed to finish it.”

Dany removed her hands from the cloak and settled them back in her lap.

“I have nothing but admiration for your skill, Lady Stark. I am… honored that you took the time to create such a lovely garment for your Queen.” Dany stated.

Sansa bowed her head, “I did not do it for my Queen, Your Grace, I did it for the woman I would be calling ‘sister’.”

Dany blinked a few times, “Sister?”

“That is what we will be, won’t we, Your Grace? Jon may be my half-brother and, to my shame, there was a time when I saw him as even less than that.” Sansa began, as she set aside the cloak and its wrapping on the table beside her.

Then she turned back to Dany, “But at Castle Black… after all the horrors that happened… there was nothing more uplifting than seeing his face again and I realized then how much it meant to be with someone who shares my blood.”

Then, she reached out and placed a hand atop Dany’s own. Dany stiffened at the physical contact, but Sansa appeared to not have noticed.

“I have learned to accept Jon for who he is, despite his name and despite the fact that he and I were born of different mothers. He is truly my father’s son, Your Grace, and as much as I know what you must think of my father… he was a good man and Jon is too.”

Dany immediately recalled the words she had told Tyrion some time ago.

_What has ‘good, decent and honorable’ ever brought me? Nothing!_

The Queen forced a smile, “I’m sure he is.”

Sansa withdrew her hand and Dany almost let out the breath she had been holding back since the Stark girl had dared to touch her so informally.

“I’ve already taken so much of your time, Your Grace. I should leave you to your preparations.” Sansa said respectfully as she stood from her chair.

Dany’s smile was still frozen on her lips, “Thank you again, Lady Stark, for the cloak. I will truly treasure it.”

Sansa gave her a grateful nod and she gathered the cloak and its wrappings back in her arms. Before she reached the door, she turned back and gave the Queen a parting curtsey.

“Your Grace.”

With that, she quietly turns to open the door and leaves.

The plastered smile on Dany’s face immediately dissipated the minute Lady Stark left her presence. The place where Sansa had laid her hand on her own seemed to burn as Dany balled her hand into a fist.

She waited until Missandei had returned to her chamber and had closed the door behind her before Dany finally moved, leaning back on the chair.

“Is something the matter, Your Grace? Was Lady Stark’s visit a cause for concern?” Her advisor asked as she drew closer to her Queen.

Dany’s jaw was tightened and there was heated look in her eyes, “Have Lord Varys keep his little birds on the Lady of Winterfell. I want to be sure we know everything there is to know about her especially once she returns to the North.”

“Would not the King in the North be with her?” Missandei asked.

“I don’t believe she ever intended for Jon Snow to leave King's Landing, Missandei. Just like everything they’ve said since they’ve been here, the Starks have hidden their true intent behind pretty words. She knows that her brother would hold more power here than up North. Unless I’m mistaken, their reason for a quick wedding was more so for her quick return to her seat of power while her brother stays here to hold the South… and me.” Dany explained, a bitter taste in her mouth as she thought her response through.

Dany stood from her seat, folding her arms, her face deep in thought.

“What do you intend to do, Your Grace? About Jon Snow?” Missandei asked.

The Queen walked towards the open window, a chilly breeze blew a few tendrils of her silver hair across her face as she watched the snow continue to fall.

“Your Grace?” Missandei prompted as she took a few steps forward.

“I will move forward with the marriage. Whatever plans the Starks may have in store, it doesn’t change the fact that I still need a united country. Perhaps I may be able to gain control of the North through my future husband if his sister hasn’t beholden him to herself already.” Dany decided.

Then she turned to face her friend, “Come, Missandei. The day is nearly over and I have a Northerner to marry. It would not be right to keep him waiting. After all, it’s not every night one gets to marry the Queen and I want to be sure he remembers this night for the rest of his life.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

As Missandei went to retrieve the Queen's wedding gown and cloak, Dany turned back to face the window. Snow had started collecting in small piles at the base of the sill. She scooped up a handful of the white accumulation. The cold and damp flakes glistening in her palm before melting away.

_My dragons are fire made flesh… and so am I._

_What fear have I of the cold… what fear have I of Snow…?_

                                                                                  -----------     

By the time the sun had fallen behind the horizon, and the darkness of night settled in, the snowfall had slowed to a shower of soft flurries gently falling from the heavens.

Torches lined up along the narrow pathway from the entrance of the godswood to the oaken heart tree. Their light shining like small beacons of fire along the snow-covered path. The trees themselves were also dressed in white, clumps of snow piling up on the bare branches that towered over the path.

Daenerys' boots crunched softly over the snowy ground as she made her way to the entrance of the godswood. Her hands lifting the skirts of her pearl-white gown as she walked.

The gown itself was not new, it was an old piece that she brought back with her from Meereen. The extended cape sleeves and the upper bodice of the gown were decorated with dragon-scale like patterns with a few embellished embroideries in silver thread on the edges. A set of burnt-umber leather sleeves lined with fur was added underneath to keep her arms warm. The neck of the gown was also altered from an open shoulder to a high neck collar, with an opening at the center revealing a silk red scarf tied around her neck.

Three dragon pins lined the front of Dany’s gown, two at either side of her collar bone and one at the center of her chest.

On her shoulders was her “maiden” cloak, tied in the front of thin string laces. A deep-red satin garment that extended into a long train trailing behind her like a stream of blood on the powdery snow.

Her plaited silver hair was trimmed with sprigs of dragon's breath and delicate jeweled pins as it cascaded gracefully over her right shoulder while her royal circlet rested atop her head.

Dany looked up and she smiled softly when her eyes met those of the Lord Commander of her Queensguard.

Ser Barristan was absent his black steel helmet as he stood in his Queensguard armor waiting on his Queen with a small torch in his gloved hand.

Snow dusted his grey-white hair and beard as he turned to greet her, a fatherly glow of admiration on his face as he beheld her.

“My Queen.” He stated with a low bow of his head, “You look ethereal, Your Grace. As if you had fallen from the heavens as gently as the snow.”

The Queen almost laughed but she settled for a shake of her head, “You flatter your Queen too much, Ser.”

“Would you take my arm, Your Grace?” Her knight as extending his left arm towards her.

Dany gave him a small nod as she rested her hand over his arm, “Thank you… Ser Barristan. Having you by my side makes me feel as if Rhaegar himself were giving me away.”

“Your brother would have loved you dearly, Your Grace. I may be an old knight, but I hope that by serving you, I am honoring his memory and the memory of your family.” He responded.

Slowly, they began their walk through the godswood, passing by the long dead elms and cottonwood. Dany sensed a heaviness in the air, almost as if she had stepped on to sacred ground though she herself hardly believed in any of the gods.

She and her knight were silent as they moved past the torches, the only sound was the soft crunching of snow beneath their feet and the swish of their cloaks as they walked.

Dany had never been in a godswood before and she hadn’t bothered visiting this one since she had taken King's Landing. After all, what use did she have for dead trees? But being here now, there was a peaceful stillness that permeated the area, it had been a very long since Dany felt something even remotely similar to it.

Dany could see the heart tree in the distance surrounded by more torches held up by at least fifty different people. As she and Ser Barristan ventured closer, Dany felt a slight stirring in her stomach.

_Why do I feel so unsettled? This is not my first wedding, I have been through this, I know what happens…_

Just then, she heard the heavy beat of leathery wings resounding from above her. A piercing screech tore through the sky.

Dany raised her eyes to her children who called to her as they flew above the godswoods. With their presence close by, Dany felt her disquiet subside and her resolve strengthened.

_Be a dragon…_

She lifted her head a little as she and Ser Barristan were a few feet away from the center of the godswood where the heart tree stood and where her betrothed awaited her.

Dany wondered if her other weddings had been as ceremonious, but she immediately stopped herself from that kind of reminiscing.

_If I look back… I am lost._

This was no time to look back, she can only look forward, only forward.

Surrounding the heart tree were her small council, her Queensguard, a small troop of Dothraki and a clutch of Unsullied soldiers. There was also a smattering of Northern soldiers as well as contingents from the Vale and the Riverlands who stood behind their lords. Some men held up poles with their House sigils on them. Dany noticed that the Stark flags had an ice-white direwolf head on a grey background instead of the traditional grey wolf on white.

As Dany approached, she saw the Lady of Winterfell standing at the center, just in front of the great oaken tree with its low hanging branches that looked like spindly arms spreading forth from its wide trunk. A few dark red leaves peeked out from underneath the snow-covered edges of the tree.

Lady Stark's red hair was hidden under the hood of her light grey cloak but she held high her own torch as Dany approached, her blue eyes blinking in the faint light.

The King in the North had his back to her but once Dany and Ser Barristan had finally come to a stop before them, he slowly turned around.

Face to face with his bride, Jon Snow looked every inch the Northern King. His black velvet brocade cloak was trimmed with black fur while on his shoulders was a brown and black wolf-fur pelt, the leather straps crossed at his chest were embossed with the direwolf sigil. His tunic was a dark blue shade and his sleeves had a subtle embroidered design on the cuffs. He had a belt tied around his waist but he was absent his sword. The iron crown of the North was on his head, its spikes standing sharp and tall. His dark brown hair looked black in the dim light of the godswood and had been combed through and pulled back into a tidy knot at the base of his neck.

Standing by his side was his giant direwolf, its white fur blending into the snow as it watched the Queen and her knight with keen dark-red eyes.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?”

Lady Stark's voice rang loud and clear over the godswood.

Dany released her hand from her Lord Commander's arm as he stepped forward.

“Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, comes here to be wed.” Ser Barristan announced, “A woman grown, trueborn and noble. A Queen. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?”

“I, Jon Snow of House Stark. The King in the North. I claim her. Who gives her?” Jon Snow's response was terse and direct as he looked at the old knight.

“Ser Barristan of House Selmy, Lord Commander of her Queensguard, who served her grandfather and father before her and would have faithfully served her brother Rhaegar if he had lived to become King.”

At the mention of her brother, Ser Barristan turned his head to the side to look at her.

Dany gave him a small smile in return, her heart warmed.

“My Queen, will you take this man?” Her knight boldly asked her.

Dany moved her eyes from him to the man who was to be her husband. Looking upon him as if it were the first time. Steel-grey eyes meeting soft amethyst.

“I take this man.”

Jon Snow held out his gloved hand to her and Dany took it gingerly, his grip was secure but not too strong as he brought her to his side.

They both knelt down slowly in front of the oaken heart tree. Dany could feel the cold of the snow on her knees seep through the thin layers of her gown. From the side of her eye, Dany could see the King in the North had bowed his head, his eyes to the ground.

Looking up at the oak tree, Dany felt a little relieved that it was not a weirwood that she was kneeling to. Though she had never seen a weirwood before, she had heard tales of what the ancient trees looked like with the carved faces, red bleeding eyes and open mouths. The thought of being before a tree with a face was more than a little unsettling to her, she gave her forebears a silent whisper of thanks for not planting such a thing at the Red Keep.

After a moment, she could feel the man beside her shift as he rose back to his feet. She steadied herself on his hand as she too stood back up.

Ser Davos Seaworth approached them, carrying in his arms the white fox-fur cloak that Sansa had shown her earlier. Dany felt an uncomfortable lump in her throat as she looked upon her bridal cloak. But she kept her expression still as the Northern King undid the laces of her red maiden cloak. He passed this garment to Ser Barristan, who took it from him with a bow of his head.

Jon turned to Ser Davos, taking the white bridal cloak from the Onion Knight and then carefully draped it around her. The fur felt warm and luxurious against her neck and her fingers brushed against the soft wool. She heard a soft murmur from the small crowd gathered and she knew that they must be admiring the beaded dragon and direwolf on her back, glistening by the fire light.

One by one, each of their guests filed out slowly, going back along the narrow pathway of the godswood with their torches.

They waited till the last person had gone, leaving only the Queen standing next to her husband and his direwolf. Just like that, the ceremony was over.

Dany had been told how brief Northern weddings were but she didn’t think it would have been done so quickly.

A few steps, some exchange of ceremonial words, a time in prayer… and she was a wife once again.

Her new husband released her hand as he turned to face her.

“Your Grace.” He stated, his voice deep and rough, “I am to carry you to our wedding feast. But if you would think it unseemly…”

Dany gave him one of her practiced smirks, “If it is your custom then do so. I do not wish to displease your gods.”

Jon Snow drew near to her, “As you wish.”

She felt her breath catch as he slid his arm inside her cloak to get a firm grip of her back before bending slightly to scoop her up from the ground, his other arm hooked around her legs.

Dany’s hand unintentionally pressed against his chest and she could feel her cheeks burn as she avoided meeting his gaze. The King in the North kept his eyes fixed straight ahead as he started to walk forward. She could hear his direwolf’s paws quietly shuffling over the snow following behind them.

For a moment, she wondered if she had made a mistake agreeing to this action. She was a Queen, after all, the Dragon Queen. She couldn’t even remember the last time a man carried her this way. She was grateful they had been the last to leave so no one could see her in this manner.

He was silent as they left the godswood. She listened to his soft, steady breaths but against her palm she could feel the quickening pace of his heart. She breathed in the subtle scent of his skin which made her think of a castle hearth next to an open window, bringing in the cold breeze from an icy forest.

She ventured to lift her eyes towards her new husband. He had been silent the entire walk and his hold on her barely faltered. She noted the scar on his temple and scratches around his left eye.

_A battle-hardened warrior for a husband. I’ve had one of those before. Is he as strong as my sun and stars once was?_

A wicked thought of Jon Snow taking her in front of the heart tree in the style of the Dothraki, who made love under the starry sky for all to see, crossed her mind as the insatiable urge within her blossomed once more.

Dany was eager to find out just what kind of man she had just married once she removed the heavy furs and leather from him.

_Would I find more scars, I wonder? Could I perhaps create one of my own?_

“You’re quiet tonight. Is your new bride not satisfying company for you, or perhaps she is too heavy a burden for you to carry this far?” She taunted softly.

“You’re barely a burden, Your Grace.” He answered without looking down at her, “I had assumed that you would rather I not speak.”

Dany smiled to herself, “You are my husband, not my prisoner. Though I am still your Queen, I do not wish you bound or gagged, unless of course that’s something you desire.”

Her husband however kept a straight face, “I desire to keep our people safe.”

“And are they? Safe?”

He didn’t respond to her final question. They had just crossed the drawbridge leading to the entrance of Maegor's Holdfast, Dany knew that their intimate moment was coming close to end, and she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that.

When they had finally come to the front doors guarded by Unsullied soldiers, Jon Snow stopped and gently set his wife on her feet.

He held his hand to her and she rested hers in his once more as they walked forward together.

The doors opened wide for them and as they entered Maegor's Holdfast, rows of lords, ladies and soldiers lined the sides of the hallway, bowing or curtseying low to the both of them as they passed.

The Northern King in his wolf pelt cloak and iron crown and the Dragon Queen with her exquisite bridal cloak and her silver crown glistening atop her silver hair. A royal marriage of magnanimous proportion yet witnessed by only a chosen few and celebrated with the least amount of pomp and frivolity.

Before they entered the ballroom where the feast was to be held, a septon awaited them in front of the doors. Dressed in a white robe, a multi-colored belt tied around his waist and a large bluish crystal hung around his neck.

Thankfully, the septon kept his blessing short eschewing the traditional seven vows and promises as he tied a white ivory silk ribbon around both their hands.

“May the Seven shower their blessings upon Your Graces. May Jon Snow of House Stark, the King in the North, and Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen be united as man and wife. He is yours as you are his. She is yours as you are hers, one flesh, one heart, one soul, from this day until the end of your days.”

He laid a hand over theirs and said another prayer before he allowed them to pass by him and into the ballroom. Her husband untied the silk ribbon from their hands and instead wound it around her wrist.

She couldn’t help but smirk at the uncharacteristic gentle gesture from her Northern spouse.

The Queen's Ballroom was lined with long tables laden with candles and plates of food and rows of benches. Targaryen and Stark banners hung from the ceiling and the smell of roasted meat wafted into the air.

A small band of lutes, pipes and drum regaled them as they entered the room.

On the raised dais at the front of the room was a long table lined with chairs, two chairs with tall backs were set in the center.

The King in the North led his Queen to their places and as they took their seats, the other wedding guests flowed into the room. The slow murmur of chatter slowly rising to a din of festive babble. Wine, ale and mead started to be poured all around. The sound of platters and cups clinking and clanging intermingled with the loud murmur of over a hundred voices.

On the high table, the atmosphere was less jovial as the King and Queen ate their meal in silence. To the King's right was his sister and the Onion Knight was beside her. Then the Lords of the Vale and the Riverland. To her left was her Lord Hand and a few members of her small council.

Underneath the table, the King's direwolf curled up next to his feet. Though he occasionally looked up when Jon Snow would pass him a roast chicken leg or a slab of ham.

Dany took a long sip of wine from her cup. She hated wedding feasts. It brought back dark memories from a time that she wanted to keep hidden and dormant at the back of her mind for the rest of her life if she could manage it.

“Your Grace, and Your Grace.”

The Valyrian-accented words caught Dany's attention and she looked up to see one of the red priestesses of the Lord of Light standing before her and her husband.

Dany gave her a small nod but the King in the North's face hardened into a deep scowl.

“It is most upsetting that you chose to bind yourselves to each other in the presence of false gods rather than be bathed in the light of the one true god.” The priestess said her arms hidden underneath the wide sleeves of her long, dark red robe. Her long black hair reached her waist and around her neck was a choker necklace made of bronze steel, a bright red crystal at the base of her throat.

“My husband follows the old gods, priestess. It is my wish to bring people of all beliefs under my wing including those who follow the Lord of Light.” Dany responded, with a courteous smile.

“Our Lord's light shines on all in the world, burning away deceit leaving only truth. I pray the Lord shows you the truth through the fires you light, my Queen.” The priestess answered, “You should visit our new temple in King's Landing. People far and wide have come, seeking to know the one true god and his will.”

“If you’ve come to preach at us, my lady, know your sermons would be best received in your own damn temples.” The King in the North snarled, “If you have anything else of worth left to say , speak it quickly, otherwise give your blessing and be done with it.”

Dany was surprised at the ferocity of his words. She knew his advisor felt strongly against the followers of the red god, but she didn’t think her husband shared that detestation.

The priestess turned her cat like green eyes to him, a pleasant smile on her lips, “The Lord's light shines in you too, my King. Or have you forgotten to whom you owe your breath of life to?”

Dany felt the direwolf shift by her feet and she could see his sharp teeth was bared at the priestess.

But the red priestess seemed unintimidated as she drew closer to the King.

“The Lord remembers his promise to you, Jon Snow. He knows the War for the Dawn draws nigh and that the North calls to you.” Then in a low voice she whispered, “ _Sȳz biarves naejot se mēre qilōni maghagon se ñāqes.  Syt bantis zōbrie issa se ossȳngnoti lēdys.”_

_Good fortune to the one who brings the dawn? Do they think Jon Snow is the One who was Promised too?_

Then the priestess bowed, “The Lord of Light will be expecting Your Graces at his new temple where his blessings await. Until then, we remain your most humble servants.”

She turned and walked away from their table, disappearing amongst the throng of servants and wedding guests.

Dany could see that the King in the North's knuckles had turned white from gripping onto his dinner knife. She passed him a look of concern but he had returned to his steak, forcefully cutting pieces and consuming them in silent fury.

“A toast!” The voice of her Lord Hand rang over the crowd silencing the room as he stood and raised his cup, “To the union of the dragon and the wolf. The King in the North, Jon Snow and our Queen Daenerys Stormborn! Long may they reign!”

The guests all stood with their cups held high towards the newlyweds as they chorused, “Long may they reign!”

As the guests resumed their seats, Dany looked back down at her unfinished meal.

_Shall I always look the disappointed bride at all of my weddings?_

Just then, she heard the scrape of the chair next to her as the King in the North stood, he gestured to Ser Davos who stood as well.

“Are you retiring already, my love? We haven’t even shared our first dance yet.” Dany stated in a seething tone without looking up at him.

“I have to beg your pardon, Your Grace.” He replied in an equally intense voice, “The wine does not seem to take to me, nor I to it, and I have important matters that require my attention.”

“Even more important than your own wedding?” She asked raising her amethyst eyes to his cold grey ones.

Again, he left her question unanswered as he started to move away.

“Your Grace!” This time it was Lord Tyrion who called after him, “Should we not begin the bed—"

Before the words “bedding ceremony” left his lips, the King flashed her Hand the most vicious death glare that the words caught in the Lannister's throat.

Dany watched as her husband walked away with his advisor and her eyes caught those of his sister who gave her an apologetic smile. The white direwolf already following behind them as they left the ballroom.

She tried to keep her emotions in check as she turned to Lord Tyrion.

“I have to say out of all my marriages, this seems to be the most disappointing one.” The tone of frustration lacing every word as she spoke to her Hand.

“Well, I can’t say this was any different to my own wedding. Though I feel I was much drunker that night then than I am now.” He replied as he refilled his cup, “But we shall see about that.”

She heaved a quiet sigh.

_The night is far from over…_

Dany looked over to Missandei who caught her Queen’s eye and she stood to come towards her side.

“My husband has decided to retire for the night. I will follow after him. I do not wish him to spend our wedding night alone. Perhaps you can accompany me to my chamber?” Dany asked.

“Of course, Your Grace.” Her friend and close advisor answered.

“It is rare to leave at such an early hour, Your Grace. You must stay, at least for the pie.” Tyrion commented.

“I am without my husband, my lord Hand.” The Queen retorted, “It is a duty of a wife to be by his side and I will honor my role even if he won’t. But if I do find this marriage to be as short-lived as the last one, I know to whom I can lay the blame.”

“Your last husband was murdered by the sons of the Harpy, Your Grace.”

Dany gritted her teeth, “Of that I need no reminder. Perhaps this time, I can feed my current husband to my children which is what I should have done with the last one from the start.”

She pushed back her chair and Missandei followed behind her as the Queen started making her way down the dais.

Music continued to play and the revelry continued even when she had disappeared out of the open doors of the ballroom. Her Queensguard and her sworn shields followed after her but the Queen waved them away. She wanted only Missandei by her side as she made her way back to her chambers. The sound of the feast echoing in the stone-walled corridors.

Dany quickly unclasped her bridal cloak as she walked, passing it to Missadei who folded it in her arms.

“Burn it.”

“Your Grace?”

“Burn it.” Dany repeated heatedly, “I never want to see that thing ever again.”

Her friend nodded her head in obedience.

When they had finally reached her chambers, Dany stormed towards the fireplace and she removed the white ivory ribbon from her wrist. She nearly threw it into the fire but then she stopped.

Gazing at the thin band in her hands, she felt a lump in her throat.

“Your Grace?” Missandei asked as she shut the Queen's door.

Dany could feel the tears behind her eyes but she swallowed it down.

_A dragon does not weep… I am a dragon… I must face him with fire not tears…_

She wound the ribbon over her fingers.

“Help me out of these clothes, Missandei.” She said, her voice soft and quivering, “I have much more to do before this night is over and I would have my husband see the woman he married for who she truly is… and I would see for myself the man behind the pretty face and the pretty words.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Missandei came towards her and started unlacing her gown.

_I am Daenerys Stormborn. I am Queen. If this Jon Snow thinks he can simply walk away from me and not suffer for it, he knows not the woman he has taken for his wife._

Dany balled her hand into a fist, running her thumb over the ivory ribbon.

_I am his and he is mine… he is mine…_

_He. Is. Mine._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I initially put in a backstory for my Grand Maester, as he's a sort of original character, but decided to save that for a future chap as I wasn't sure I was going to need him a lot. I just needed a damn Grand Maester and not of the other book characters made much sense, so I ended up basing this one on the Citadel Maester Sam meets in Season 6. The character had no name but the actor who played the maester is Frank Hvam. So I based the Grand Maester off of him coz I thought he was super funny and just so uptight, it fit with the Grand Maester I needed.
> 
> 2\. Yeah I played pretty fast and loose with a few show/book plots concerning Jon and him wanting to keep his bastard name, so I know that might come up, so just roll with this for now. As in regards to whether Dany would actually marry a bastard and how the realm would deal with that, that's gonna be a consequence she's going to have face down the road. 
> 
> 3\. I never liked or trusted Varys, whether book or show, he's just this slimy little schemer like Littlefinger except Varys likes to claim he's doing it for the "greater good", so I kept some of his show canon attitude coz it just makes it better once his bigger scheme gets revealed later on.
> 
> 4\. Oh and Jon Snow's resurrection here is not a common knowledge type of thing, just rumors (and I guess Beric's is too). So it'll have an impact when he tells Dany soon. And it'll tie into the thing with the red god and the WW so... yeah... Also side note, I don't understand how everyone on the show was so super chill with Jon's resurrection, like??? The man died! You would think there would be some kind of awe that would come with that.
> 
> 5\. Shot down those Daensa feels pretty quick coz my Dany was really not having it with Sansa. But then again, this was all from Dany's POV and Dany is super suspicious of everybody so, just take note of that when reading this chap. 
> 
> 6\. Also the fox fur versus the wolf fur. I tried to do a subtle writing thing LOL I don't know if it came across well haha
> 
> 7\. I teared up a bit writing the wedding stuff, only coz I know we were so robbed of that in the show. But as all arranged marriages are, they are seldom so... well arranged. lmao. So, things are a bit rough for our pair now but it'll smooth over soon. Also played loosely with the wedding canon of how the Northern weddings go and changed up some of it coz... I can. Lol.
> 
> 8\. Yes, I am cruel, I am asking y'all to wait patiently for wedding night and more. But it's coming (lol) 
> 
> Those should be all my notes for now, I'll probably add more maybe if any other thing comes up. Thanks again for reading, friends <3


	5. It's Not That Simple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wedding Night smut that was Promised. Jon and Dany have a conversation that they should have had in Season 7.  
> \------  
> Sansa struggles with her past. Jaime and Cersei are on the run and in hiding. A surprise twist at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao! Here ya go, ya nasty horndogs!  
> I am actually blown away by all your comments and responses. I can tell a lot of you were upset by Jon walking out, so let's see if my boy Jonno can redeem himself in this chapter.  
> I kept my smut contained for now, but don't worry, there'll be future chances for that. I do want to give you fair warning that I am actually not the best smut writer and I had to read other better ones for inspiration (Shout out to Up Against The Wall by meisie). So I'm sorry if I hyped you up too much haha, but I do hope you enjoy it and I'll do better for future chaps, I promise.  
> \-----  
> Also just a note that I did not intend to write nice, fluffy, soft characters in this story so if you're looking for that, you might need to read other stories (there are so many good ones out right now!). I actually do want to explore themes like trauma and human faults and the darkness/shadows in people so that's kind of the tone I want to set. I do allow occasional moments of softness and light-heartedness, because hey that's human nature, but overall I do want to set the expectation that this can be quite a hard story to read if you're struggling with those kind of issues.

* * *

JON

“If the Walkers have been seen close to Eastwatch, we need to start sending more men to fortify the castle. Last Hearth is the closest keep to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Get a raven to the Umbers and have them send a faction of men to the Wall. If they resist, remind them that their role in the murder of my youngest brother has not been forgotten, and if they need a harder reminder, have a bag of Bolton hands dropped on their doorstep.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” Ser Davos answered as he stood, ready to leave.

“Inform Lady Stark that she is to leave as soon as she can. I still have much to do in King’s Landing though I doubt my wife would be keen on having me here.” Jon stated grimly as he rested his hand on the mantelpiece over his fireplace.

“Well, with all respect Your Grace, you did abandon your bride in the middle of your wedding feast.” Ser Davos muttered a little cautiously.

“I know.” Jon answered, his jaw tightening.

“Do you think it was wrong of us to play them false? To have them believe we wanted you married in a hurry so you can run on back to Winterfell when in fact we had other reasons at play?” The Onion Knight asked, changing the topic, his mouth askew.

Jon shook his head, “We said what we needed to say. The marriage had to happen quickly before Baelish can do anything to undermine it and to solidify our position here so we can mobilize our troops back North where they are most needed.”

“And what of your brother?”

Jon exhaled, “He’s insisting on staying at Castle Black but he won’t give me a reason why. If I could, I would have my brother safe and back home in Winterfell. Had I known he was alive before taking the crown, I would have delayed this marriage and seen my brother become King in the North.”

“And would Daenerys Targaryen want to marry a little crippled boy over you?” Ser Davos inquired with a raised eyebrow.

Jon didn’t answer as stared into the fire. The flames licking over the black logs as they crackled and popped.

“You should be with your wife, Your Grace, it is your wedding night after all. Not every day a man gets himself a wife, especially a wife like the Dragon Queen.”

He remained silent and the Onion Knight took this as a sign to depart.

“I’ll let you know if we get any more ravens from the Wall and the North.”

“Thank you, Davos.” Jon stated, then he looked down to see his direwolf curled up by the fireplace, “Take Ghost out with you, perhaps I will call on my wife before the night is over.”

“Aye,” Ser Davos stated as he came over to Ghost nudging him with the tip of his boot, “Come on, you big lug, up you get.”

The direwolf red eyes' slowly opened, his tail wagged upon seeing Ser Davos and he rose up and shook out his snow-white fur.

Ser Davos held the direwolf gently by the scruff of his neck, leading him out, “Got to give the King his privacy tonight, he has a wife now so you can’t be puttering around any time you damn like anymore.”

Jon could hear Ser Davos continue to lecture Ghost as they left his chambers. He almost smiled to himself after they had gone. Yet smiling was something that seemed like a foreign action to him. He couldn’t even remember the last time he did so genuinely, or even the last time he laughed.

He sighed deeply, pulling at the lacings of his tunic. He shrugged off the stuffy garment, leaving only his loose undertunic over his black breeches. He tossed his tunic aside on a chair as he walked towards the window, he unlatched the hook of the sill and pushed the window open, breathing in the icy air.

_I’m married._

Jon wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it. It had been over so quickly, he felt he didn’t have time to even process it.

He remembered how ready he was to abandon even the slightest notion of marriage when he joined the Night’s Watch.

_You don’t know what it is you’ll be giving up._

Uncle Benjen's voice echoed in his mind.

Being married was something he never thought was possible in his life, even when he was with the Free Folk beyond the wall. Yet he never thought he would have died and lived either.

Jon ran a hand down his face. The words of that red priestess lingering in his ears.

_He knows the War for the Dawn draws nigh and that the North calls to you…_

He felt the blades between his ribs. The last one in his heart. He thought of the bitter cold. The silent darkness. The empty abyss.

The flashes of his first breath, seeing his bloodless wounds, the confusion…

_They murdered me… my own brothers, they murdered me…_

Jon steadied himself as took a shaky breath and let it out, watching the white cloud dissolve into the air.

_Those damn priestesses. When will they learn to stop meddling in affairs that are beyond them?_

Even now he felt it, the pulling sensation to return North. He thought of his dreams once more.

The blue eyes of the Walkers. Seeing through the eyes of a wolf. Becoming a dragon. Ice and then fire. Always the same dream.

_A dragon…_

He thought back to the other night when the Queen took him inside her children's lair. The heat of the sand, the smell of charred bodies, the sight of those monstrous beasts with their bared teeth and scaled wings.

And yet…

They were strangely magnificent too. Deadly, powerful… and beautiful.

_Just like she was…_

Jon swallowed hard, his hands gripping the window sill.

Ser Davos for all of his dry wit had a point, it wasn’t every day that a man married a Dragon Queen, especially not one like her. He was also right about her beauty. Though Jon likened it to the way you would find a finely crafted blade beautiful… lethal and mesmerizing.

The moment he stepped into the Queen's Ballroom, the first time he saw her, he thought she was too young to have been the woman of the stories he had heard. Yet, there she was.

Willful, arrogant, demanding… and yet she had seen through their every word through those piercing amethyst eyes.

_Sometimes I marry them…_

He remembered their conversation at the Dragonpit. The shimmer of rage in her eyes, the ferocity of her threatening barbs and the redness in her pale cheeks when he answered her every bluff.

She wasn’t hard to figure out as far as women go… and gods know if there was anything he understood less than vain politics, it was women.

And yet…

There was something different and unsettling about being around her… and Jon couldn’t figure out what it was.

As he hung his head low, the icy breeze did nothing to cool the heat that was flowing through his skin. He took slow, deep breaths.

When she had taunted him that night, breathing into his ear, a rush of thoughts and urges crashed into him like a violent wave upon the shore. How he managed to steel himself was beyond his knowledge.

The beast that awoke in him didn’t just crave blood and war… it sought flesh as well… a multitude of images plagued his mind and Jon struggled to wrest himself from them.

These were thoughts that exceeded those of any mere hot-blooded man. The things that he could have done had he not the sheer will to turn himself from her.

_Gods… help me…_

He could feel the sweat on his brow, the rush of his blood and the growing discomfort in his breeches.

How could he possibly see her in this state? Especially given the way he had left her earlier. She was most likely preparing his execution right about now.

Jon closed his eyes once more.

His first wedding… probably his only one and he had most likely brought it all to ruin before it even began.

_North… only North…_

There were more important things. The Walkers moving closer to the Wall. His brother was alive. More men were disappearing from their posts. Tensions between the Free Folk and Northmen were close to a boiling point.  The winter storms were growing stronger and the longer he stayed, the more people were in danger of starvation, the cold… and much worse.

_Blue eyes, death marching on the Wall, a dragon covered in ice…_

Jon knew he couldn’t stay. The North needed him. There was a War coming and only precious few knew about it and far fewer knew how to fight it.

_Winter is coming…_

His father had always warned them. Jon himself took to saying those words whenever his men lost sight of their purpose, their true fight. But Winter had finally come and there was no stopping it now. There was no choice but to make a stand and pray they would live to survive it.

These thoughts cooled his veins far quicker than the actual cold.

And yet…

Jon knew that he couldn’t escape it. Sooner or later, he would have to face _her._

He wondered how he could make her understand any of this. Would she even care? Would she call him mad? Would she grow impatient or perhaps she would take such offense to all of it that she would throw him to her dragons?

Jon gave the night his one dry laugh, bereft of any form of mirth.

He wouldn’t blame her if she did have him killed tonight. Death was a welcome thought. His second chance at life wasn’t any better than his first. At least before he died, he had thought himself an honorable leader, a person who he hoped would make his father proud. Hells, he could even have called himself a good man. He had friends, he had a purpose and even when faced against the insurmountable odds of the Walkers and their wights… he even had hope.

Death… was definitely much easier than living. Who was it that told him that? Was it Lord Commander Mormont? Was it Mance? Jon couldn’t remember.

He was dead. He should have stayed dead.

_But I’m not dead, am I?_

The next best thing would be to just leave and run away from it all. What duty did he have left to the living who neither cared nor thought of anything above themselves? He tried to do the right thing once, and it only got him a knife in the heart.

But could he really do that? Abandon it all?

_And where would I go? Someplace warm and far from the sight of people? Shall I live my days in some dusty hut in the middle of the desert?_

He was a free man. If he wanted, he could take a wife, have children, till the land and spend his life in some form of unearned peace.

But Jon scoffed. He knew better. That was a life for some other man… not Jon Snow.

No one could have that kind of life anyway if the Others made it past the Wall. He at least owed it to every other person in the world to give them the kind of life he could never dare to hope for.

For now, this was the life he had to contend with.

A crown, Seven Kingdoms… and a Dragon Queen for a wife.

The sound of his door opening and closing broke his prolonged, internal contemplation.

He heard the sound of bare feet treading on the stone floor.

He looked up out of the window into the black night. The sky was dark and the clouds even darker. The smell of a winter storm lingered in the air. Jon breathed it in.

_Gods… help me…_

“My lord husband.”

There was no mistaking the smooth, clear sound of her voice, touched with a slight accent from a life lived in foreign cities.

“Your Grace.” He breathed out. The reply sounding more raspy than he intended.

“Are you afraid to look upon me, my lord?”

“No.” came his answer, “But I wonder if I did, would you have me taken away and burned alive? I suppose you would still do so even if I didn’t.”

“I suppose I would, but there’s only one way for you to find out, isn’t there?”

Jon bowed his head. There was no running from her now. They had played this game since the moment they had started speaking to each other. He had so far evaded her every move and mostly came out unscathed. Every taunt. Every threat. Every turn of phrase.

He slowly turned to face his wife.

When he did, he realized that he had lost.

She stood a few feet in front of him. Her long silver hair, free of its elaborate plaits and trimmings, tumbled in soft waves just above her waist. She wore a black robe, its material too thin for such a cold, damp room. A small belt made of the same material held it in place around her waist. The neckline of her robe was so low he could see the curve of her breasts and the pointedness of her collarbones.

On her wrist was the ivory ribbon that the septon had wrapped around their hands earlier.

He felt the severe roar of heat surging through him and by the look in her fierce amethyst eyes, she knew that she had gotten what she wanted… at least for that moment.

How could she not? She came prepared to his chambers. He, on the other hand, had been caught completely off guard.

“Shall we spend the rest of the night gawking at each other?” She asked after a period of silence passed.

Jon swallowed, “I would have come to you, Your Grace.”

“Would you? Really?” She responded, a caustic tone in her voice, “It seems to me that you want nothing more than to be anywhere else but by my side.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“And tell me, this important matter that took you away, was it worth leaving your new bride to fend for herself amongst the hundreds of lords and ladies who came to celebrate our most joyous of nights?” The sarcasm was deep and biting and he felt every word.

But he matched the intensity of her gaze, “If you only knew what I know, you would not be asking me that.”

“But I don’t know, do I?” She hissed as she took a step forward towards him.

Jon could feel the pulse beating in his fist as he clenched it.

“It’s not that simple.”

She took another step.

“Do you think any of this is simple?” He could see the light lilac sheen of her eyes more clearly now, “All my life I had to fight to survive. While you grew up in your Northern castle, I was starving on the streets running from assassins and traitors until my own brother sold me off like cattle. Do you think I chose any of my marriages? Even now as Queen, I still had no say in who I was to wed.”

_If she takes another step…_

The Queen was now at arm's length from him. He could smell the perfume off her skin and could make out the individual strands of her silver-gild hair.

She took one final step, as she glared up at him.

“Don’t you dare tell me what is simple and what is not. If you think I wanted simple, I wouldn’t have married a sullen, boorish, insolent bastard boy from the –"

He didn’t even hear her last word as he grabbed her by her neck and crashed his mouth against hers. To his surprise, she responded with even more ferocity as she opened her mouth to him, her tongue desperately searching for his as his hand tilted her jaw upwards. He could hear the muffled hum in her throat and it made him kiss her even more forcefully.

She tasted like sweet wine and her skin smelled of winter roses. His other hand moved down to grip her round bottom and down her thigh.

 _Take her…_ It seemed as if another voice inside him had whispered.

He needed no further motivation. Her hands were gripping tightly at his shirt as he lifted her with one arm. Her legs wrapped around him as he pushed her back against one of the stone pillars in his chambers. She gave a soft groan, whether it was one of pleasure or pain, he didn’t know.

His hands started to tear at her robe, a loud frantic rip sounded as his palm found her breast and kneaded into it. She moaned louder this time into his mouth and he knew that he needed to take her soon before he could lose himself any further. Her mouth and teeth skimming against his own as she panted between kisses.

Then he felt a sharp pain on his bottom lip and he tasted blood. He drew back abruptly to find her hungry, lustful eyes looking back at his, a shadow of a defiant smile on her swollen lips as if she was daring him to do something more.

Jon brought a hand to his lip and found that she had bitten him hard enough to draw blood.

After that, he let himself go. He was no longer the King in the North and she no longer a Queen. All that was left was the carnal desires of a dragon and a wolf.

He fed upon her once more, letting her taste the flavor of her attack. He could tell she was enjoying it as she ran her tongue over the wound she caused. He carried her from the pillar to the next closest surface which was his desk. One hand sweeping away all the objects that obstructed them. The sound of glass breaking and items clattering and rustling to the floor only heightened his want of her.

As he held her down with one hand, the other fumbled with his breeches, desperate to free the tight ache that throbbed between his legs. She hiked her own robe up and he was grateful to find that she had come to him absent any underclothes. He pushed the thin robe off of her body so she was  completely bare under him.

He separated his lips from hers only to press them against her neck, his own teeth finding her soft skin.

She cried out much louder now and he relished the sound, and he needed to hear more.

_Make her beg…_

He ran his fingers up her thighs until he found the wet, gaping hole between her legs. She mewled against his ear as he bit her shoulder and shoved two fingers into her, rubbing furiously against her tightness.

“Ah. No. Please.” She breathed in small gasps.

He could feel her fluid spill into his palm as he moved his hand more vigorously inside her.

He wanted her to scream. He needed her to plead for him to release her. But he was already so close to wanting that release himself. 

He brought his lips to her ear.

“Beg me.” He commanded hoarsely. “Beg me and I’ll give you what you want.”

This seemed to anger her and he felt her rage as she pulled at his dark brown hair, tearing off the tie that kept it back. Her hand grabbing a fistful of it.

“ _Lo ao ȳdra daor qogralbar nyke sir, mazeminna iā egry se ohīlagon ao isse se ȳrgos se gūrogon ao nykēla.”_ She growled rapidly.

He didn’t understand a single word but he knew a threat when he heard it. It only made him want her to squirm under him even more.

Jon took his fingers out of her and pulled her towards him roughly. Her hands reached for him but he held them back with his other hand.

Jon released the laces of his breeches and pulled it down just enough for his cock to breathe. He lay her back on the table, her arms held in a vice grip over her head.

She mumbled more words in Valyrian. Some in a voice of frustration, the others pleading.

He waited no longer.

He thrust himself into her, the desk shaking beneath them. She moaned and cussed, her hips trying to move in rhythm with him but he held her down with her thigh against him as he pounded into her.

_Look at her when you fuck her…_

He watched her as he moved. Her eyes were closed and her brow furrowed in wanton concentration. Drops of sweat glistened on her forehead and her mouth was open wide crying out or speaking words that had no meaning to him.

Her back arched against the table the harder he moved. He wanted the release and he could feel it coming.

_Not yet… make her scream..  make her beg…_

He gritted his teeth as he pulled her up. With her hands freed, she clawed at his shirt pulling it over his head.

Her mouth found his again as he continued to fuck her. The place where she had bitten him still stung as she sucked on his lower lip.

Jon growled against her mouth as he lifted her off the table. But as he did, she pushed strongly against him and he stumbled backwards, his back slapping against the stone floor.

But that didn’t stop her as she grinded against him, his cock was still inside her and she slid against him so easily with her slickness coating him from root to tip.

His Queen was insatiable as she whispered more foreign words into his ear. He held her hips as he thrust up into her. She leaned back with her eyes closed and her mouth agape as she rode him hard. His hands reached up to cup her round breasts, he twisted her nipples in his hand and she cried out once more.

_Yes, scream for me…_

He flipped her over unto her back, her silver hair splaying all over the cold stone floor. She groaned as he moved into her harder and faster. She was digging her nails so deeply into his skin, he thought she was going to tear it off of him. He had to hold back her arms once again just so he could finish her.

The beast within him lashed out and he could feel himself coming closer to his own end. Her moans of ecstasy ended in a choked gasp as he felt her tighten and pulse around him, quaking underneath him. Her raw, luscious scent and the sound of her climax in his ear was enough for him to come undone as he felt a hot flood of his seed spill into her.

He collapsed unto her, his head between her breasts, feeling her chest rise and fall and hearing the rapid thuds of her heartbeat.

 _Take her again._ He heard the voice whisper.

_I can’t. I can barely stand._

_If you won’t, then I will._

Jon tasted the sweat of her skin just above her stomach and he could feel her hands run through his hair.

All his energy melted away into the rapture of the moment.

All he could see was darkness and all he could feel… was her.

\--------

The glare of sunlight roused him as he shielded his eyes with his arm. His back was lying on a cold, hard surface and a white sheet was tangled around him. He blinked a few times, wondering where he was as he struggled to open his eyes. As his vision cleared, he found himself lying on the floor of his chambers.

He groaned as he pulled himself up, there was an ache in his back and his shoulders. Reaching over, he felt deep scratches just behind his right shoulder. Holding the sheet around his waist, he staggered to his feet.

_What in seven hells…_

The room looked completely decimated. Broken glass scattered the floor along with ripped and crumpled parchment, open books with torn pages, quills and ink bottles spilled over. A table had been broken in two and the feathers from a pillow were scattered everywhere.

He managed to salvage his breeches and his undershirt from the chaos. He noted that his shirt had a long rip on the side from the hem to his rib. He rubbed his forehead.

_Did I have too much wine last night? Wait…_

Then suddenly he remembered. Last night. His wedding in the godswood. The feast. The red priestess. Speaking with Ser Davos in his chambers. The Queen…

_The Queen…_

Jon turned quickly and wandered into his solar to find a woman’s legs and bare feet draped over the arm of one of the chairs, a snow-white tail was also seen tapping softly against the rug it was sitting on.

He moved around the seat to find his wife in her black robe lounging with a bowl of fruit in her lap and his direwolf sitting in front of her. Her one hand scratching Ghost's neck while the other was holding a half-bitten apple.

As she caught sight of him, the Queen smiled lazily, “I never thought direwolves could be so tame and silent.”

“Ghost isn't like other direwolves. He also doesn’t usually take to strangers so well.” He answered after a stunned pause.

“Ghost? Is that his true name?”

“Aye.”

“Hmm, guess it’s my luck then.” She stated as she took another bite of her apple.

He was at a loss for words. It felt strangely uncomfortable seeing his new wife adapt so quickly to his space and to his direwolf.

“Ser Davos came by earlier looking for you. He brought this one along with him.” She began, a twinkle in her amethyst eyes, “Your Onion Knight was surprised to see me, though I’m sure he well understood what I was doing here. It was our wedding night after all.”

“Your Grace, about last night…” He felt the words catch in his throat.

“Are you about to apologize for your horrendous behavior at the feast? Or did you want to talk about what happened in your chambers?” She asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Jon noticed her sleeve had rolled down as she ate her apple. A purplish-red mark was on her pale skin around her wrist.

His eyes widened with concern, “Did I hurt you?”

She shrugged, “Only my pride I suppose but I guess I can’t really blame you, it wasn’t like I wanted to be there either surrounded by—”

Then she suddenly stopped as she noticed his eyes were directed at her arm.

“Oh. You meant this.” She glanced down at her wrist. But she didn’t seem angry, on the contrary, she looked amused, “I’ve had worse, believe me.”

A look of guilt crossed his face, had he lost himself so much to his demons last night that he had treated her so roughly?

“Was that your first time?” She asked.

The question confused Jon at first and then when he realized what she was asking, he replied, “No.”

It seemed a flicker of disappointment appeared in her eyes but she easily blinked it away, “How many women did Jon Snow have to charm to learn all those tricks?”

“Just one.”

_Her red hair… kissed by fire… she used to say… what was it that she used to say…_

Daenerys hummed as she placed the apple core back into the bowl and set it aside on the table. She moved her legs so she was sitting up properly on the chair.

“Why don’t you lay down by the fire, my love, while I talk to your master?” She crooned to Ghost as she held the direwolf's face in her hands.  

Then she stood up on her feet and approached him, her silver curls covering the torn areas of her robe.

Jon could already feel that restless sensation wake within him once more as his wife drew closer.

“I’m not his master.” He said in a low voice.

She smirked, “No. But you are my husband. Will you not properly greet your wife good morning, my lord? Or do I need to yell at you again just to get you going?”

He knew he couldn’t resist her the moment she pressed herself against him and leaned in tilting her face up to his.

He held her jaw with one hand as bent down to take her mouth into his. He could taste the tang of the apple on her tongue. The kiss they shared was far different than their first one as they moved slow, savoring the gentleness of it.

She sighed into his mouth as he reached for her breast. Her hands were on his chest, when she ran her fingers over the scar above his heart, he pulled back slightly.

She opened her eyes, looking into his, "Don’t think I took no notice of this last night. It was dark but not dark enough and I lay in your arms till the sun rose up.”

“It’s a long, sad tale and I have had no practice in telling it.” He said to her.

She stepped back from him, “I’m sure that’s not the only tale you haven’t told me.”

Her reaction turned cold as she walked past him, folding her arms across her chest.

“I know you’re not leaving King's Landing and I know your sister is keen on regaining your seat of power in the North.” She stated, a slight tinge of anger in her voice.

“Our people need us and I can’t return North until I secure our alliance with those in South.” He confessed.

“Until you can secure me, you mean.” The Queen responded, turning to him with a deep glare in her eyes. “I do not appreciate being lied to, my lord, or to be treated as if I’m such young, half-wit incapable of deducing political strategy.”

Jon sighed as he leaned his hand on the back of one of the chairs, “We thought it best to keep certain things from you and your council, Your Grace because, like you, my sister and I have our enemies who would stop at nothing to take what belongs to us.”

“The Seven Kingdoms are under my rule.” Daenerys growled, “The North is one of those kingdoms, is it not?”

“They are yours to rule by virtue of being my wife.” Jon replied back.

She moved closer to him, her hands shaking, “How dare you? I am your Queen.”

“And I am your husband, as you yourself clearly stated.”

She was breathing hard as she glared at him, she was about to storm off when Jon grabbed her by the arm.

“Let me go!” She commanded, her other hand ready to slap him across the face but he held on to that one too.

“Stop.” He said, but in a gentler voice, “We cannot begin our first day as husband and wife in this manner.”

“How else should we begin it? The lies have already started and who knows how many more remain unspoken. Tell me how it is that we can continue from that?” She snapped.

Jon pulled her slightly closer to him. She was right. They were both still strangers to each other. Though they had shared a bed, or at least tried to, he still knew nothing about her or she of him. He realized that it would not do well to make an enemy out of his new wife, particularly when his wife had the power of armies, dragons and half of the Seven Kingdoms at her back.

But could he trust her? Could he trust anyone at this point?

The scars across his body was a reminder of how far his trust had gone. Yet, he knew that he would lose far more if he trusted no one.

Jon sighed as he made his choice.

“We start by telling each other the truth. I know it would be easier to walk away, and to believe we belong on opposite sides of a battlefield. But I would rather we take a different approach. I’ll let you go and you can sit down and listen to me or you can leave and we end up fighting each other for the rest of our lives. Which would you prefer?” He asked, his gray eyes gazing at her intently.

He kept his hold on her until she stopped resisting him. Then he released her hands carefully.

She seemed reluctant as her amethyst eyes were still burning with fury. She then walked slowly towards the seat she had taken earlier. She sat down straight on the edge of her chair, her hands folded on her lap.

Jon picked up the other chair and placed it right across her before lowering himself on to it.

He hesitated for a moment and then he pulled his torn undershirt over the top of his head. In the light of day, she could see his deep scars more clearly. There were at least seven of them. Most along his abdomen. The hardness in her gaze slowly dissipated, turning to curiosity, as she reached out a hand and traced her finger on the side of the scar over his heart.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked in a surprisingly meek voice before she drew back her hand.

“No.” He took a deep breath, “I told you this was going to be a long tale and… to be honest, the last person I told this story to was my sister. But I will keep it as brief as I can and perhaps fill in the gaps at another time.”

“Before I was Lord Commander, my uncle and a few others disappeared beyond the Wall. The Lord Commander at that time, Jeor Mormont, he took a large crew of Night's Watch brothers north to find my uncle. I volunteered to travel with a crew on the Frostfangs to scout the wildlings. That’s where I met Ygritte… she was the girl I…”

“Your first girl was a wildling girl?” she asked.

“She was a spearwife… a warrior…”

Daenerys raised her eyebrows and Jon cleared his throat, “I had to break my vows and pretend to be one of the Free Folk so they could grant me their trust. I had to see what it was that they were planning to do. Mance Raydar was their king and he was leading all the wildlings south to the Wall.”

“Why?”

“That’s a story for another time, but I promise I will tell you.” He said reaching for her hand.

He continued, “My time with the Free Folk changed me. I realized we weren’t so different. They were just born on the wrong side of the Wall. Winter was coming and they needed to go south for their safety. So when I became Lord Commander, I vowed to be the shield that guards the realms of men - _all_ men - and that included the Free Folk.”

His voice became more quiet, the memories were sharp and they burned him from within, “Not everyone was pleased with my decision but they all knew the threat that Winter would bring so I thought that eventually they would come to learn that the Free Folk were not our real enemies. I was wrong.”

A grimace on his face as he spoke, “One night, my steward Olly came to fetch me, telling me one of the wildlings had news of my uncle. It was a lie, a trap. I turned and they… and they…”

He couldn’t go on. It was too difficult.

_The blades… the cold… traitors… all traitors…_

“Traitors…” He growled.

She noted the change in his eyes as he told his story and she squeezed his hand to let him know she was still there listening.

Her touch seemed to calm him and he ran his other hand over his mouth and beard.

“They killed me.”

There was a note of puzzled concern in her eyes but she said nothing and waited for him to continue.

“I was dead for over a day. Ser Davos was at Castle Black and he called for the Lady Melisandre who served Stannis as his red priestess. She was the one who brought me back.”

Suddenly, a look of understanding came over her face, “Was that why you reacted so strongly to the priestess yesterday?”

He nodded slowly, “It was like being back there again. On that cold table in that cold room. I could hear the words she used to bring me back. See the gemstone on her collar glowing.”

He looked up at her, “I didn’t mean to leave you at the feast so suddenly but I couldn’t stay, I pray you forgive me. I know you must have thought all these things about me and I don’t blame you if you wanted me dead. I should have died anyway…”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close. He buried his face in her silver hair breathing in her scent. She moved to sit on his lap and she pulled back and caressed his face.

“I had heard rumors. Something about people rising from the dead in the North. I didn’t think that it would be about you.” She said softly.

_I can’t tell her that part yet… not yet… one story at a time…_

He turned his face from her, “This person… this thing… that I’ve become since I was brought back… There’s a shadow in me that I can’t escape. In moments, I almost forget who I am and I can’t remember things. I can’t control my words, my actions.”

He lifted her hand and rubbed a thumb over her bruise, “You should know I would never hurt you. I couldn’t. You are my wife and I would see you safe and protected.”

She smiled at him briefly, “I don’t mind it, really I don’t. I quite enjoyed it in fact.”

Then her smile disappeared and it was his turn to look concerned.

“There was a time when I thought I had no room in my heart for trust or mercy or love. I’ve known the bitter taste of betrayal too. The son of your Lord Commander, Ser Jorah Mormont. He was my guardian for some time after I married Khal Drogo until I found out that he betrayed me to the usurper Robert Baratheon. I would have executed him if it weren’t for the fact that he had saved my life countless times.”

Her eyes looked away and Jon noticed a sadness in them that he had never seen before. She had always looked so confident and sure of herself.

“I fear I’ve hidden a truth from you as well. If we are really intending on being on the same side, I think it only fair that I should tell you this.” She said in a whisper, "You know that I have been married twice before. My first husband, Drogo, was a Dothraki Khal and my second husband, Hizdarh zo Loraq, was the last son of noble Meereenese family. They're both dead now. I do not think there was much trust or love shared in my last marriage... but  with Drogo... Drogo, I think, had more of my affection but sometimes I wonder how true it was given that I was only a young, naive girl when I married him."

“You don’t have to tell me all this now if you don't want to.” Jon responded.

“No, I want to.” She insisted as she held his hand in hers. She swallowed hard before continuing, “There’s a reason why I call my dragons my children. It’s because… they’re the only children that I will ever have.”

She raised her eyes to his and he saw a shimmer of tears behind them but she was careful to hold them back.

“Before Drogo died, I was pregnant with his son. He made a pledge to me before all his people that they would take the Seven Kingdoms for me and our son would be the Stallion Who Mounts the World, ruling both the Dothraki and the milk men who sat in stone buildings and on iron chairs." She smiled softly at the memory but it did not linger long, "One day, the Dothraki came upon a Lhazareen village in the Dothraki sea. I tried to save all the women and children that I could. The Dothraki believe them to be nothing but sheep to be taken and done with as they pleased. Drogo was hurt defending my actions to his men. A Lhazareen woman came forward offering to help tend to his wounds."

Her grip on his hand tightened, "It turned out that she was nothing but a vile, vengeful witch. She murdered him. She betrayed me. She took his life and the life of my unborn son. ‘ _Only death pays for life'_ she said. Then she cursed me. Telling me that Drogo would only return to me when my womb would quicken and I could bear a living child again."

"As it remains, Drogo is still gone and so is my ability to give you an heir.” Her voice shook as she spoke and her eyes were downcast.

There was a moment of silence between them as her words hung heavily in the air.

“Do you regret marrying me now?” She asked.

It was then that Jon finally understood. Her fire, her ruthlessness, the strength and power that she seemed to wield - all built to try to regain what she had lost. 

He lifted her chin up to look at him, “The pain that we’ve both been through, the secrets that lie within our darkness, it’s what gives us strength to do what needs to be done. You are mine and I am yours. I made that promise to you before the old gods and the new and I intend to keep it.”

She exhaled shakily as she stood and walked away from him, “The fact that I can’t bear you a child will be the weak link of our reign and our marriage. We can’t have a legacy if we don’t have heirs. When people find out, they will want to replace me, perhaps give you the crown and have you marry someone else. Or they choose a new usurper to take my place. I am the last Targaryen, Jon Snow, the last and only one. When I am gone, my House dies with me.”

He stood and came towards her, unsure if she would be receptive to his comfort, but he reached for her anyway and she hesitated before she leaned in against his bare chest.

“There are other ways that we can continue our line without a child. We could take wards from all the Houses to keep their lords loyal or we can—”

“Please. Stop.” She said in a pained voice, “I don’t want to talk about it at this moment.”

He nodded slowly, “Very well.”

“This marriage,” Daenerys started, “I want it to be different than all the others. I want to trust you. The ones who are worthy of my trust are so few but I want us to trust each other… I don’t think I could stand another betrayal especially not one from you.”

“You have my word as a King and as your husband, I will stand by you no matter the cost.” He said as he held her face in his hand.

“And what of your sister?” She asked, her expression darkening.

His brows furrowed, “What of her?”

His wife turned her face away, “Before we were wed, she came to visit me in my chambers to show me the bridal cloak she had made. Her pretty words, they seemed to say something completely different. I can’t stand double-edged sycophancy. I can’t put my finger on it, but I would be wary of her if I were you.”

“She’s my sister, Your Grace. I made a promise to keep her safe and protected as well. She is still my family. I understand why you’re uncertain of her loyalties, but she was the one who arranged this marriage in the first place. I do not think she wishes you ill.”

She gazed up at him, “I won’t ask you to choose between your wife or your sister. But I am her Queen as much as you are her King. I won’t let whatever ambitions she might have tear us or our kingdoms apart.”

“I won’t let that happen either.” He promised.

“You probably won’t want to let her know that I had my bridal cloak burned.” She stated.

His eyes widened as he dropped his hands, “You did not have to do that.”

“I did.” She responded fiercely, “I will not have Lady Stark dictate how this country and our marriage is to be conducted.”

He sighed deeply as he softened his gaze, “I won’t divide my loyalties between you both. But I hope that you would at least remember that we are all on the same side.”

The Queen seemed unconvinced but she nodded after she had a moment to contemplate her next words, “Perhaps I may have been too hasty in throwing that cloak away. It was an exquisite piece. But I had to do it. I hope you understand.”

“Since we are both being honest, then I will say that I wish you had not done so.” He allowed himself to brush her cheek with his hand, “It looked beautiful on you and my sister would have wanted you to keep it.”

“I know.” Came her simple response.

She walked away from him and towards the door of his chambers.

But as she opened the door, she looked back at him, “Will you come to me tonight? I do not wish to be alone.”

“Then I will be with you.” He said as he bowed his head slightly to her.

As the door shut behind her, Jon collapsed in a chair. Ghost was curled up by the hearth, asleep.

He leaned back and pressed a fist to his lips.

_I’m married…_

It was still such a foreign thought. Realizing he was married to the Dragon Queen was even more surreal.

Jon sat with his thoughts for a few moments.

She had just gone and already he was aching for her. But having ta Targaryen Queen for his wife was already complicated enough, he wondered if it would become even more so if he fell in love with her.

_Love…_

The last time he fell in love… he got three arrows in the back for it. It was far less than he deserved. He betrayed someone he loved before. He had no intention of doing so again.

Yet he knew that he still had to tell her the truth about the Others and about the North. He also knew that he would need to leave her to go back North eventually. Sansa could look after the care of the people but she didn’t know how to fight and she wouldn’t know what to do if the Wall does get breached. He knew that he was needed North but…

_Could I leave her?_

He was not so sure anymore. Especially after she had been so open and vulnerable to him.

_North… only North…_

Still it called to him.

He felt pulled in two different directions. A part of him wished he had never gone south. A part of him wished he had never agreed to this marriage. A part of him wished… he had never met Daenerys Targaryen.

But he did.

He thought of the way she had looked, naked and writhing under him. He touched his bottom lip and could feel the dried blood that covered the wound she had made the night before.

He wanted her again. That much was certain. The beast within him demanded it.

But he also remembered the sad, lonely look in her eyes when she told him of her past and how ability to bear a child had been taken from her. Seeing her that way… it stirred something else within him. A different kind of desire.

_I’ve only just met her… I can’t be in love with her…_

Whether or not he was in love didn’t matter. She was his wife now and he had to do his duty by her, no matter what.

He recalled that life that he had wanted before. The life of a simple man. With a family and a home far away in another land.

But Jon Snow was not a simple man. Neither was his Queen a simple woman.

Jon stood from his seat. He had work to do and he had to speak to his sister. But those could wait…

He walked back into his chambers, noting the fact that it was still in complete disarray.

He shook his head slowly as he rested his hands on his hips.

_She’ll never make my life any easier, will she?_

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

> _AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hope you all enjoyed that! If you want to continue enjoying the feels of wedding night smut, I recommend stopping here and taking a break before you continue as this next part gets rather dark and the tone shift can be quite a shock. Trigger warnings for Sansa's POV is trauma, bad memories and alcoholism. Trigger warnings for Jaime's POV is that it is quite violent and can be graphic if you’re squeamish about death and blood.  Additional trigger warnings for mental illness, murder, suicide, graphic blood, bleeding etc. Okay, if you’re ready, you can continue._

* * *

* * *

 

SANSA

The Lady of Winterfell stood at her window gazing out over the half-ravaged city that was slowly being rebuilt from the chaos that it had undergone. A goblet of wine in her hand as she was lost in thought, watching the rays of the afternoon sun shine on the unusually quiet city. The snow covering the rooftops glistening in the bright orange light.

Her eyes moved down to the red liquid in her hand, a distant memory resounded in her head.

_Drink, girl!_

Sansa sighed trying to push back the memory from her mind.

_I thought I was stronger than this... better than this..._

She was almost grateful her brother had stormed out of his own wedding feast, it meant that she didn’t have to linger long. She realized she didn't blame him at all. She hated wedding feasts... or weddings in general... Nothing good came out of any of the weddings she had been to... not even her own.

What did she think was going to happen? How did she possibly think she could arrange a marriage and go through the motions unscathed?

_Me! Ramsay of House Bolton, Heir to the Dreadfort and Winterfell. I claim her._

Sansa tipped the cup into her mouth, letting the alcohol burn through her throat, praying it would burn away the memories.

_The snow... the torches... the white dress..._

She wondered if this was why people drank so much. To dull the pain, to forget, to drown out the hurt and the memories.

Sansa wondered what Margaery would have done... Would she have had a better chance in seducing the Dragon Queen as she was in charming everyone around her?

_Daenerys Targaryen is certainly not Cersei... but she’s not Joffrey either._

Sansa scoffed at herself wondering why she even tried playing that game that way.

_She’s probably burned that cloak by now. All for the better. Not that it matters anyway..._

Her thoughts went back to Margaery. Her pretty smile, the flutter of her lashes, the sweetness of her voice. The Tyrell girl had married Joffrey but she was fortunate to not have made it to her wedding night.

She thought back to that day. Joffrey turning bright purple as he gurgled and croaked. She wished she had stayed longer to see the life leave his eyes.

Sansa smiled slightly.

_I may not have killed him, but at least I carried the poison that did._

She took another drink. Her hand gripping the rim tightening.

_I should have killed Ramsay too... he was mine to kill after all... I should have been the one to see him torn apart..._

There was a knock on her door and she turned slightly to see a Stark soldier open her door.

“My lady.”

“Yes?” She asked.

“The King summons you.” The soldier relayed with a bow of his head.

_Of course, he does..._

_“_ I will be with him shortly.” She answered.

_Duty calls..._

                                                                                                                ----------

Sansa pushed open the door to her brother's room to find him reading one of the multitude of scrolls littered across his desk.

“My king.” She greeted with a bow of her head. Her red hair she had gathered up into one long braid behind her.

Jon looked up and he gave her a short nod, “Lady Stark.”

It had been a few days since she had seen her brother. Given the gossip that was going around, the Queen had gotten her claws in deep into him. Though by the look of him, she thought marriage at least suited him far better than it ever did her.

Sansa couldn’t help but scowl as she watched her brother in his brown tunic, his hair combed back into a knot and his beard looked newly trimmed.

“Ser Davos tells me your ship will be ready to sail by dawn. Do you have everything you need for your journey?” He asked, his eyes turned back to the scroll.

She moved towards a pitcher of wine sitting on a table and poured herself a glass, “Yes, I believe so.”

As she took a deep drink, she walked towards a seat close to her brother.

“We haven’t spoken about your wedding night.” Sansa stated.

“What is there to speak about?” came her brother's unamused answer.

She turned to him with a mocking smile, “You both can pretend all you like but I hear the servants talking and Ser Davos himself was as quick to let everyone know about the morning after your wedding and who he found in your room.”

“She’s my wife, Sansa, and she’s the Queen. What we do behind closed doors is no one’s business but our own.” The King muttered.

Sansa smirked as she took another sip of her wine.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been having more than the usual glass of wine since we’ve been here. You should stop drinking so much.” Jon cautioned as he rolled up the scroll, “It’s not a habit becoming of the Lady of Winterfell.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “Since when do you care about the habits of ladies?”

She stood and walked towards his desk, “Is it because the Queen has an opinion on wine consumption? I suppose she does, given that she has a drunkard for a Hand.”

Jon’s eyes gazed up at his sister with a serious glare, “I do not know what it is you’ve said to her but the Queen doesn’t trust you.”

To this, Sansa merely sighed, “Of course, she doesn’t trust me. She wouldn’t be a good Queen if she did. After all, as I heard it said, a queen who trusts everyone is as foolish as a queen who trusts no one.”

A look of confusion came on her brother’s face, which quickly turned to anger, “Did you intentionally create conflict between yourself and the Queen so you can leave me caught between the both of you?

“I did nothing of the sort.” Sansa responded with a shrug, “I tried my hand at getting close to the Queen, but my gamble failed me. Still, it gave me the answer I was looking for, which is that I know now how best to deal with her to get what we need.”

Sansa lifted her glass to him, “Turns out the answer isn’t me, it’s you. I must commend you then, my dear brother. I had thought all was lost when you walked out of your own wedding feast, but you managed to have a successful wedding night nevertheless.”

Before she took another drink, Jon stood up and grabbed Sansa by her wrist. She looked up at him in surprise as the wine sloshed over her hand.

“Jon!”

“I warned you about playing your games, Sansa.” He said in a low, menacing growl, “This isn’t the North and you are not a little girl pretending to be queen.”

Sansa pulled her hand away from him, the wine spilling to the floor.

“You don’t think I know that? Do you think I forget where we are or how we got here? You weren’t here when Father lost his head or when I had to hear about Robb and Mother from Joffrey. Do you think that I spent all that time weeping like a child hoping some knight in shining armor would come and rescue me?” She spat out.

“You know far too well that that is not what I think.” The King replied strongly, “Since we’ve left Winterfell, I’ve allowed you to speak and make decisions on my behalf because I knew that you are far more adept than I in handling our affairs here. But if your true intentions were to undermine the alliance that we’ve just made, perhaps I was mistaken to have given that authority to you.”

She slammed her empty glass on the table and stood up, her hands sticky from the spilled wine, “Daenerys has her eyes set on the three kingdoms under our control, you know this more than I do. If we make a wrong step or decision, the North will be lost to us and I, for one, am intending on keeping it.”

“You are the Lady of Winterfell. Our people and our home are under your care, but I am the King and by my marriage, all the other kingdoms will answer to me and the Queen including the North.” Jon responded.

“Don’t be a bloody fool, Jon!” Sansa snapped as she walked towards him, “Think of everything our family has been through. Think of what the North has been through. Our dealings with the Southerners nearly brought our House to ruin!”

“You were the one that told me that we wouldn’t survive without the South.” Jon argued.

“I told you we wouldn’t survive if we fought against _her_!” Sansa countered.

Jon huffed, “So you had me marry her? For what? To stay here to control her and make her decisions for her?”

Sansa held on to his shoulders, her voice determined and insistent, “You can decide what becomes of the North. You can convince her that the North has had enough of being dragged into wars that bring only death and suffering to our people. As her husband… as our King, you can make her leave the North to the North and we can finally be free. This is what we’ve been fighting for all this time. This is what Father and Robb would have wanted.”

Her head started to ache. She could feel her pulse ringing in her ears.

_The North is ours, Jon... Why are you doing this?_

He placed his hand over his sister’s, “You know that I will not stay here forever. Sooner or later, Daenerys will need to know about the threat of the Walkers and the dead. When the time comes, I will return home. Whether with her armies or dragons, or with nothing. The Long Night is coming, and I have to be there to fight it for all our sakes.”

_You fucking idiot..._

Sansa’s face crumpled and she tightened her grip on his tunic, “You’re throwing it all away, Jon. Everything we’ve worked for. All for this delusion that you’re some sort of savior of the world destined to save us from your nightmares.”

“Sansa…”

“I told you once, if you’re not going to help me, then I’m going to protect the North all by myself if I have to.” Tears glistening behind her blue eyes, “But I would be a fool to think I can do it on my own, you have to help me, Jon. You know she’ll never let the North be and nothing will change.”

“I am not choosing between loyalty to my wife and loyalty to my home. I married her so I wouldn’t have to.”

Sansa scoffed in disbelief as she pulled her hands from him.

_Was I wrong to trust you after all this time? Don’t you remember what happened to Robb? What happened to father? Men. Why did I think you would be any different from all the others? All you care about is war and blood and women who take to your beds._

“Don’t do this, Jon.” She said shaking her head.

“Do what?”

“Don’t let whatever feelings you think you have for her cloud your judgement and come between us. We are family!” Sansa stated strongly.

Jon’s grey eyes darkened as he gazed back at his sister, “Then you probably should have realized that before you arranged our marriage since doing so makes her my family too.”

There was a still silence between the both of them. Sansa breathing hard and Jon defiantly staring her down.

“Then I wish you both all the happiness in the world.” Sansa snarled before turning to leave.

“Lady Stark!”

Sansa stopped before she could reach the door and she turned slowly, her seething glare directed at him.

“I did not permit you to leave.” He stated coldly.

“And you think I care?” She answered back bitterly, a tear falling down her cheek.

Jon walked towards her, his expression hard and severe, “You should. Walk away from me and I'll have you stripped of your title and exiled across the Narrow Sea.”

“You can cut off my hands or my head while you’re at it and save yourself the trouble.” She retorted back as she pulled open the door and slammed it behind her.

_The Seven damn you, Jon Snow..._

She felt the hot tears flow from her eyes as she strode down the hallway back to her own room. When she had finally reached her chambers, she shut the door behind her and angrily bolted it.

She staggered towards a chair and buried her face in her hands, her tears seeping through her fingers.

_Please make Father say yes... It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted... I would be Queen, Mother... Please make Father say yes..._

Everything was so simple. How did it all come to this?

_How did it all come to this?_

* * *

 

JAIME

The sharp smell of blood jerked him wide awake.

_Cersei!_

His eyes blinked open as they slowly adjusted to the dark, dim and musty room.

“Cersei?” He croaked out, his voice hoarse from sleep.

His one hand reached for the long, thin dagger that he usually kept close to his side but he sat up when his hand came up empty. His eyes scanned the thin sheet that he had slept on the dust-covered wooden floor.

His dagger was gone.

“Cersei.” He called out again.

He heard a soft voice murmur from the next room and he followed the sound.

It had been almost a month since he and his sister had left King’s Landing, dodging Unsullied soldiers and silver cloaks while hiding in brothels, sewers and other unseemly places that no one would dare to look. Bronn had looked after them for a time after he received the letters that Tyrion had sent to warn them. The gold coins that Tyrion had given him was used sparingly for food and horses, whenever he had a chance to get them.

It was a bloody miracle they got as far south as they did.

She hadn’t spoken a single word to him since he dragged her out of the Throne Room and forcibly carried her out of the Red Keep while wildfire exploded and burned everything around them. She fought hard against him for a time, frothing at the mouth as she screamed curses till her voice grew hoarse. But eventually she had fainted from the exertion and after finding Qyburn, they took refuge in a small hut by the Blackwater.

They had travelled with Qyburn and Ser Robert Strong for a time, but Cersei’s last Queensguard was not someone who could travel inconspicuously with them and Jaime had sent him and Qyburn away once they had passed the borders of the Crownlands. Though the road was far treacherous once they had crossed the Stormlands into Dorne as Princess Arianne’s forces were on high alert for them as well. Jaime had to do his best to avoid the main roads as he travelled on horseback with his sister who was heavy with child.

Jaime knew that they must be somewhere close to Dorne judging by the aridness in the air. Finding an abandoned house just outside what he assumed were the Dornish Marches, he brought Cersei to the only room in the house while he slept in the common area on the floor.

As Jaime opened the door to the bedroom to find Cersei sitting on a chair facing the grimy, dirt-stained wall. The windows were covered with moth-eaten sheets, morning light poking through the rips and cracks.

“Cersei?”

Jaime took a step and a vial cracked under his boot.

_Oh fuck..._

It was the potion that Qyburn had given him. Cersei was too weak and ill to travel over sea, she would have lost the baby if they had forced her to.

“ _Be sure she takes three drops a day. It’ll keep her calm. Essence of nightshade along with a mix of my own special herb.”_

That was what Qyburn said. Though Cersei was indeed a lot calmer, it didn’t stop the sleepless nights nor did it keep her from the nonsensical mad rambling she would repeat to herself over and over again.

“Gold their shrouds... Gold their crowns... Gold their shrouds... Three children... Gold their crowns... Three... Three... Gold their crowns...” He could already hear her muttering.

As the child in her grew, the more inconsistent her ramblings became.

Her blonde hair had grown to just below the shoulder, but the luscious gold curls that he had used to love was now matted, golden brown against her unwashed head. Grime and muck coating the tips of the strands. She was ghostly thin save for her protruding belly which she often rubbed with both her hands as she spoke.

In her more lucid moments, she would sob and cry out for her children. But most of the time she would be silent as the grave, staring into space.

Jaime reached down to pick up the vial and cursed when he found it empty.

The strong odor of fresh blood grew stronger the closer he came to her.

“Gold their crowns... their shrouds... Gold their crowns... Three children... Gold...” She whispered as she slowly rocked back and forth.

When he took another step, she grew still.

“Jaime?”

Jaime breathed a soft sigh of relief, “Cersei... are you all right?”

“Did Tommen wake you? I’m sorry, he never cries, the sweet boy. Go back to sleep, Jaime. Robert will be with his whores tonight. Go back to sleep.”

Jaime’s look of ease faded as he shut his eyes and then slowly opened them again.

 _“_ What happened to the potion? You didn’t take it all, did you?” He asked as he quickly walked towards her.

The stench was overpowering this time as he came up behind her and Jaime’s heart started to race.

On his last step, he realized he had stepped into a pool of something wet and sticky.

Beside her chair was his long dagger covered in dark, red blood.

_No... no..._

Jaime looked up and there was a look of sheer terror in his green eyes as he came around the chair.

_No... no... NO!_

“Tell father I’ll never marry him. I only want to be with you.” Cersei’s hollow eyes were bloodshot as more red fluid trickled down her lips.

_Cersei... what have you done... what have you..._

“Myrcella! Let me see your dress, my love! Myrcella!”

_Why... Cersei... why..._

But she couldn’t see him. She didn’t even know he was there.

His boots were drenched with her blood.

“Gold their shrouds... Three... Gold...”

_You... evil... hateful... woman..._

_“_ Crowns... Gold their crowns... three...”

_I should have let you die... I should have left... I should have put a sword through your heart..._

He touched her bloodless cheek. It felt so cold.

_Why did I have to love such a woman? Why did I do to deserve you?_

_“_ Gold... Three... Crowns...”

“Why, Cersei?” He whispered.

_You used to be mine... We used to be happy... Don’t you remember? Do you remember me, Cersei?_

His hand curled around her pale throat.

_The things I do for love... The things I did for you..._

“Gold... G-gold..C-c—ugh...”

Tears blurred his vision. All he could see was red. All he could see was her blood. His hand trembled as it squeezed.

“J-Jai-Jaim-”

He shut his eyes as he sobbed. All he could feel was hate... and anguish... and pain... and her throat...

She shook and trembled as her final breath left her. In a moment, she was still and silent.

He opened his eyes to find hers staring blankly at him, her mouth agape.

Jaime gasped as he fell to his knees upon her blood, he couldn't even hear his own screams as he pounded the wet floor.

_Why Cersei? Our child... we could have been happy... we could have been a family... like you always wanted... Why..._

“What a pity.”

Jaime looked up and turned at the sound of the voice.

“Q-Qyburn?”

The old man standing at the doorway walked in and pulled down his hood. A look of mock disappointment on his face as he sighed.

“That bitch was for a girl to kill but it seems you got to her before a girl could.”

“W-wha--”

Before Jaime could get a word out, Qyburn grinned as he pulled at the loose skin at the base of his throat and slowly peeled it off like a mask.

Long dark hair. Cold grey eyes. A proud, victorious smirk.

There was a low, vicious snarl from a large animal that slowly walked into a room. Its paws tapping against the wooden boards. Golden eyes gleaming as its sharp teeth were bared.

The blood drained from Jaime’s face as he gazed up at the stranger holding Qyburn’s wilted face in her hand.

“The Starks send their regards... you fucking cunt.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. So, Jon is kinda going through some weird Smeagol/Gollum thing but I hope it didn't come across as too schizophrenic that way. I just had this idea that after being rezzed, there's this shadow demon living in him that's connected to him being a Targ.  
> 2\. Also a note on Targ blood, I am of the belief that Targ blood gives you some sort of mystical powers and it can also make you sensitive to people who also have Targ blood and at least in this case - it makes you super horny af.  
> 3\. Dany's plan from last chap was to come to Jon and basically try and subjugate him by fucking his brains out but guess my girl got her expectations subverted in a good way LOL.  
> 4\. Rough translation of Dany's Valyrian response: "If you don't fuck me now, I'll take a knife and stab in the throat and take you myself." Horny Dany speaks only Valyrian and gets pretty violent LOL  
> 5\. It gives me warm fuzzies when I refer to Dany as his wife ^_^  
> \-----  
> 6\. I didn't want to turn Sansa into Cersei 2.0 or Littlefinger 2.0, as mentioned in last chap, but somehow this was where the character took me.  
> 7\. Writing this chapter was difficult for me, not just for Jon but for Sansa too. I work with youth who experience trauma on a daily basis so some of the experiences that has been shared with me has found a way into this chapter. So... yeah..  
> 8\. Special shoutout to my Jonerys discord peeps for helping me with the Sansa portion.  
> 9\. And that's the end to the Lannisters... maybe... But what happened? I kept it vague for now so you can come up with your own conclusions.  
> 10\. Next chapter may take a while as ALL this stuff was supposed to be in last chapter but it got too long. 
> 
> Okay, thanks for reading friends, next chap will be up in 1-2 weeks :)
> 
> Update: Thought I had written Jon as too harsh to Sansa in the 2nd half but looking like y'all seemed to like it so I changed my warnings :)


	6. Stick Em With The Pointy End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany has a sleepless night. J&D mark the Small Council Table. Bastards get legitimized before a certain someone crashes the party. An emotional reunion and farewell. A small dose of Mercy goes a long way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this story gets more complex, the updates are probably gonna take longer. Just FYI.
> 
> Whew, this has been a crazy chapter to write and rewrite and rewrite. Y'all are probably going to want to hang me at the end of it, but it's okay. It is what it is.
> 
> But a special shout out to my fellow author WriterWolfe618 for helping me with a ton of things for this chapter and this story in general. If y'all haven't read The Cold Remains The Same and The Fire Burns Just As Bright... what are you even doing with your life? LOL.
> 
> So the next few chaps will be a bit slow in terms of plot pace as I realize there are so many damn side characters that need to play a part and getting them into the story will be a bit of a challenge given that I usually give myself a set number of pages to write for each chapter. 
> 
> Also a little explicit, smut warning for Dany's POV. :) Because that's what you guys really came here for, isn't it? LOL.

* * *

DAENERYS

Her husband was a strange, complicated man.

Though they had been married for just almost a month, he was still as much a mystery to her as he was when he had first stepped foot inside the Queen’s Ballroom.

Dany sat bare naked on a cushioned seat, leaning her back against the wall as she cradled a glass of Arbor Gold in her hand, the warmth of the fire beside her casting a red-orange glow on her pale skin. Her amethyst eyes watching her dark-haired Northerner twist and turn in his sleep, murmuring words she couldn’t hear, his fists clenching and unclenching the sheets.

She stood and placed her cup down on the bedside table as she sat beside him and brushed the sweat from his brow. It seemed to quiet him for a moment and soon his breathing slowed and the movement behind his closed eyes stilled.

There were many times when she would find her bed empty and see him sitting next to the hearth, gazing absently into the fire. Other times, like this night, his night terrors would wake her, and she would wait till he had settled back down before she fell back to sleep.

As she watched over him, she wondered about the horrors that he had confessed to her the morning after they had been wed. Her fingers tracing over the deep scars on his chiseled abdomen as she looked up at his face, peaceful and quiet in sleep.

Now that he was much calmer, it was easier to see the young man he was while he slept, unguarded and absent the hardened exterior he wore each day playing the part of the King in the North.

In the day, he was as cold as the snows that started to fall and as sharp as the Valyrian steel he carried. His responses were always terse and direct and when he entered a room, his very presence silenced even the most unruly of men. When he wasn’t busy at his desk writing out his orders or conferencing with Ser Davos and his men, he would be out in the city overseeing its restoration or speaking with the silver cloaks. Ghost, his large direwolf was by his side at all times, leaving him only to hunt in the Kingswood or when the King and Queen needed their privacy.

But when her husband was alone with her, particularly at night, he was nothing but pure flame.

Dany was not unfamiliar to the roughness of intercourse, the first few times with Drogo were memories she longed to forget and yet, after the birth of her dragons, Dany found herself craving more intensity when she sought pleasure from her many partners, both men and women.

Doreah had taught her well and her last lover, her captain Daario Naaharis, had been one of the few who could satisfy her long enough to keep her amused.

But Jon Snow… Jon Snow was something else entirely.

The heat of their passion could rival the flames that her children wrought on cities and fields. Despite being in each other’s chambers almost every other night since their wedding, whenever her husband came to her, their coupling was frantic, desperate and, occasionally, violent. The inner beast, he called it, often took over him whenever they were together. A flash of red in his dark grey eyes typically signaled that shift.

He had taken to binding her arms back with a belt or a strip of cloth, or else muffling her screams with a hand over her mouth or a silk gag. Each morning, he would look upon the marks and bruises he had left upon her with a guilty countenance, and each morning, she would assure him that he had no reason to apologize.

Yet, in between the formal aloofness of their relationship in the day and the fiery desire they shared at night, there were those moments of unexpected tenderness. A gentler kiss in the mornings as they awoke, a brush against her cheek when they shared a private meal in their quarters, a soft smile as they shared stories of their past sitting on furs in front of her fireplace.

Dany didn’t consider herself a sentimental person, yet this Jon Snow was starting to have a discomforting effect on her.

_Who could dare love a dragon?_

She had asked him that, the night after his first audience with her. Now she was starting to wonder if perhaps she should have asked if it was even possible for a dragon like her to love someone else in the first place.

Dany wondered once more if she had ever really loved Drogo back then. She grew to care for him, that much was true, and he was to be the father of her son. Drogo had promised her the Seven Kingdoms and the Iron Throne but he had never lived to see that promise through. She had to do it all on her own.

Now, here she was. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Married to a King of one of them.

This King in the North…

On the night of their wedding, she had intended on making him completely hers, loyal and unquestioning, subservient to her every command. Yet it seemed that her plan had failed.

_Would this man be my undoing? I used to think that I was better than this, that I had learned from this. Could I really ever love, truly love, someone? After everything?_

Her children were the ones that held her heart. No one could ever take their place. At least, that was what she believed in wholeheartedly… until this stubborn, grey-eyed Northerner came into her life.

 _Love is a luxury Queens can ill afford_ , Dany had told herself once.

She could feel him stirring and she moved onto the bed, laying beside him as he reached an arm around her waist and brought her closer to him. His damp forehead was pressed against her right breast and she gently caressed his bearded cheek.

She sighed as she rested her chin atop his head, threading her fingers through his dark brown hair and closed her eyes.

_Perhaps one day she would learn to understand her Northern spouse… but that day was not today…_

\-----------

 “My King, I do not believe we have the resources to carry those supplies within the week.”

_Her hands were tied with a belt on the iron rungs of her bed frame…_

“Be that as it may, Grand Maester, I have spoken with the Princess Arianne and she has agreed to the trade. Have a raven sent to Sunspear just to be sure.”

_His head between her legs, his teeth grazing her inner thigh…_

“Well, you can consider my proposal to move the wagons past the Stormlands instead of on a barge floating over the treacherous seas.”

_A silk cloth was tied around her mouth to muffle her screams…_

“Lord Tyrion, the amount of coin it would take to do so would be more than the Crown can afford. The winter storms have been ravaging cities and towns North of the Twins. The people will starve if we do nothing about it.”

_She can feel his tongue plunging inside her, his mouth sucking her hard as he holds her hips in place._

“What news of wheat and barley from the Reach? The wagons should have arrived weeks ago.”

_Don’t… stop…don’t…_

“If the Dothraki could perhaps be persuaded to lend their horses and protection to the convoy, we wouldn’t have to worry about the chances of it being ambushed on the way to the cities.”

_Her body quaking as he rams his thick, hard shaft deep into her…_

“That would be preferable to just leaving them roaming unchecked in the Westerlands. What are your thoughts on it, Your Grace?”

_Harder… Faster…More…_

“Your Grace?”

_She can feel herself gasping, her muscles tightening, her hips writhing as she nears her peak…_

“Your Grace…”

_Yes…yes…YES…!_

“My Queen.”

His dark grey eyes peered at her from across the table as he called her, her thoughts disrupted.

Dany blinked as she looked around at her Small Council, the faces of her advisors gazing at her in questioning anticipation. After a brief silence, she forced a tight-lipped smile.

“I believe that will be all for tonight, my lord and my ladies. We can resume this discussion tomorrow. You all may go. I would like to speak with my lord husband alone.”

The members of her Small Council stood and murmured their respects before they slowly filled out of the room. Once the door had closed behind the last person, she looked at her husband as she tilted her head.

“Do you think you can run this country better than I, my love? It’s only been a month since our wedding and already you’re issuing orders to my council and my armies.”

He leaned back on his seat, “As my wife seems eager to forget, this is my country too. The South hasn’t seen a Winter in almost two decades. I am doing what I’ve come here to do, which is to prepare our people for the hardest Winter we are ever going to face.”

“Yes. ‘Winter is coming’. As you Starks are wont to remind us all.” Dany said as she stood and walked slowly towards him, her fingers trailing on the backs of the chairs she passed.

“Winter is already here, as I’ve said when we first met.” He added.

Dany stopped as she reached the other end of the table where the King in the North was seated.

“I suppose I can allow some authority on your part. You are still a King, after all, even if you are just a consort.” She responded with a small smile.

“You did seem quite distracted tonight, Your Grace.” He murmured as he gazed up at her, his hand pressed against his lips as his elbow leaned on the arm of his chair, “I thought perhaps you wouldn’t have minded if I made a few decisions on your behalf.”

“And who do you think is the cause for my distraction?” She asked as she brought her hand to his face, running her fingers over his dark beard.

He answered by casually catching her hand in his and pressing her palm against his lips.

“Would you like me to apologize?” His breath warm and inviting on her skin.

 She smirked at him as she ran her thumb over his bottom lip, “I’ve had one of your apologies before. As tempting as that is, I need my strength for tomorrow. As do you.”

She pulled away from him, facing him as she leaned both her hands behind her on the table, giving her husband a sly grin.

He answered her with a brief smile as he rested his hand on her waist, tracing the fine embroidery of her gown.

“I had assumed Lady Stark would be taking her leave. Yet she still stays?” Dany asked curiously.

His eyes darkened as he pressed his lips together, “I have restricted my sister to her quarters at this time. It seems you were right about her. She made it clear that her desire to keep the North to the North outweighed any intention to submit to your rule… or mine. I have half a mind to send her across the Narrow Sea, stripped of her title and birthright for her defiance.”

“I approve of the plan, but would that be the wisest decision?”

His frown deepened, “True. She is my lord father’s true-born daughter. The North would still be far safer in her hands than in any others. Her lady mother’s relations are also what hold the Vale and Riverrun to us.”

“If your sister is as smart as she thinks she is, she should know that any act of open rebellion would doom the lands she seeks to claim for herself. Whether by my fire or by the cold of Winter, they will die without my support.”

“I know. I believe she does too.” He breathed deeply as he shook his head, “It is my hope that she would see the folly in her reasoning for wanting the North to keep to its own and instead ensure the Northern lords, as well as her uncle and cousin, remain loyal to the Crown before I let her go.”

She hummed under her breath and then said with a shrug, “Perhaps it is not too late for us to take my children and simply burn them all if they do not submit.”

His eyes softened slightly as they met hers and he gave her a dry scoff, “Much as that would probably make things easier. You can’t just burn down half the country just because you can.”

“And why not? Astapor and Yunkai learned their lesson when they tested my wrath.” Dany responded proudly.

The King in the North stood from his seat, placing both his hands on either side of his wife, his nose inches away from hers, “This is not Slaver’s Bay. You are Protector of the Realm, not its executioner.”

“It is called the Bay of Dragons, my lord husband, and that is because they answer to me and my dragons. I would have the Seven Kingdoms remember who it is they serve.”

His gray eyes were stern but patient, “And I would have you remember that as their Queen your duty is to serve them as well. The Sons of the Harpy rose from the ashes of Astapor and Yunkai, perhaps it is best to not create another den of vipers here.”

The Queen’s mouth twitched slightly, a trace of a pout on her lips. Her reaction to their banter seemed to amuse him as he bent down to take her mouth.

“Must you always have the last word?” She whispered against his lips, a flicker of desire in her amethyst eyes.

His right hand was already undoing the laces of her gown.

“Not always… Your Grace.” Came his husky response as he moved his head lower to kiss the soft skin on the side her neck.

She sighed as she held the back of his neck, “I told you that we needed to save our strength.”

“You don’t need much strength to sit on a chair in front of a crowd.” He responded as his lips found her ear, and his hand her breast as her garments loosened.

A lustful hum escaped her lips as her own hands were quick at work removing his leather belt.

“Your sister… is she going to be a problem?” Dany asked breathily as her husband lifted her slightly so she was sitting on the edge of the Small Council table.

“She won’t be.” He answered as he pushed the skirts of her dress up her thighs, “I’ll find a way to keep her in line.”

After throwing his belt to the side, she began untying the strings of his breeches. She saw the hint of red sheen in his eyes and knew that she had stirred the beast within him.

“And if she betrays us?” Dany murmured as he nudged her legs apart and pulled her impatiently towards him. She tugged his breeches down and hooked her legs around his hips.

“Then I’ll make sure it’ll be the last time she ever does.” He growls into her ear, as he thrusts himself into her wetness.

A cry escaped her lips as she lay back on the table, her one hand gripping the edge as her husband plunged himself more deeply into her, each time rougher than the last.

As his pace quickened, he jerked her up towards his chest. Her gown slipping from her shoulders as he bent down to take a swollen nipple into his mouth. She gasped with pleasure in response. The table shaking vigorously under them.

Her body ached for the release as he moved his mouth from her breast back up her neck and then finally searching hungrily for her lips.

She moaned loudly as he sucked hard on her tongue. Then he abruptly pulled back as he grabbed a fistful of her silver hair and commanded, “Scream for me.”

He sunk his teeth into her shoulder and she gave a pained shriek. Her fingers tangled in his dark curls as he rode into her hard and fast.

Her eyes were closed as she relished the waves of ecstasy building within her.

“ _Ȳdra daor keligon!{Don’t stop!}”_ The words dripping from her mouth before she could stop herself, “ _Tolī!... Kessa!... Kessa!{More!... Yes!... Yes!}”_

When she finally reached her climax, she felt every last inch of her pulse and vibrate with her release. She felt tears in the corner of her eyes as she gave her last lustful cry. He drove into her a few times until she felt him convulse and a warm spurt of fluid filled up inside of her.

She lay her head against his shoulder, breathing hard. His own chest heaving up and down.

Just as she was about to pull back, his hand tightened its grip on her hair.

“What makes you think I’m done with you?” His voice deep and grating.

Dany laughed as she bit her lower lip, “Go on then. See if you can make your Queen scream louder this time.”

\--------

“By order of Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of her Name, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons and her husband, the King-Consort of the Seven Kingdoms and the King in the North, Jon Snow of House Stark, you are no longer Melitta Flowers but rise as Melitta of House Fossaway, true-born daughter of Lord of Tanton Fossaway.” Lord Tyrion announced reading from the long scroll in his hands.

The young bushy haired girl stood with joyful tears in her eyes as she and her father bowed before the Queen and her King. They moved to sit along the rows of benches placed along the sides of the Queen’s Ballroom alongside the other newly legitimized bastards and lords or ladies from their respective Houses.

Six bastards from six noble Houses across the Seven Kingdoms had just been granted the gift of legitimization by the Crown. Dany’s eyes briefly scanned the faces of the lords and ladies in the room.

_Here they are. Sworn Houses who pledged to faithfully serve the Crown and my reign._

Both the King and Queen were clothed in sheen black velvet. The King had a black wolf pelt draped over his left shoulder with the crowd of winter on his head. The white wolf pommel of his sword could be seen on his hip. While his real direwolf Ghost sat between them.

The Queen's long-sleeved and high-necked gown wrapped tightly around her body. A metallic plate decorated with dragon charms covered her neck and shoulders while her silver circlet gleamed upon her brow. Her thick silver hair was kept in one long tight braid that trailed at her back.

She looked to her right where her husband was seated. He was leaning back on his chair, his fist to his lips as he silently observed the ceremonies, only moving to nod slightly when the newly legitimized children and their lord fathers paid their respects to him.

_One more…_

“Now, last but certainly not the least, the Crown calls forward, Edric Storm.” The Hand of the Queen cried out, before lowering the scroll.

Dany had heard of the usurper’s bastard boy who had been exiled to Lys once his father had passed in order to escape Cersei’s mandate to massacre all of her husband’s bastards.

The doors of the Ballroom opened and a tall, black-haired seventeen year old walked into the room. His eyes were a dark shade of cobalt and he had a sturdily attractive look about him. A shadow of whiskers on his upper lip as he came forward, dressed in a copper colored doublet, dark brown breeches and long black boots. On his shoulder was a short velvet cape embroidered with gold thread. On his chest was a large brooch in the shape of long antlers and he carried a thin sword at his side. He was followed by a group of knights garbed in Baratheon colors, their long yellow capes emblazoned with the Baratheon sigil.

The boy stopped in front of the King and Queen and bowed his head low. Dany felt her fist clench in unconscious reflex as she looked the usurper's bastard in the eyes.

“Edric Storm.” She said through gritted teeth.

“Your Grace and… Your Grace.” The boy greeted.

Then looking to the King in the North, he added, “Our lord fathers would be most amused to see their bastards come so far, my King.”

Jon Snow dropped his hand and responded bitterly, “What would you know of my lord father, Storm? From what I know of yours, he was a drunken whoremonger who drove the realm to the brink of ruin and who would have done worse had it not been for that boar.”

Dany couldn’t help but smirk at her husband's caustic response to the Baratheon bastard as he continued.

“Lord Stark in his blind loyalty to Robert gave up everything to be his Hand, and he lost his head for it. At least my father had only one mark of shame on his honor, can you say the same for yours?”

There was a restless murmur in the room. One of Edric Storm's knights whispered in his ear as he shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

“I would take care, Edric Storm, my lord husband is not a man easily placated by winsome words.” The Queen stated, making a mental note to show her husband her appreciation later that night, “However, today is not a day of retribution for the sins of the past. You’ve come to reclaim the House of your lord father. I would see you bend the knee for it.”

Swallowing hard, the boy slowly knelt on one knee, all his knights following suit.

Dany peered at him with a fiery amethyst gaze, “Despite the best efforts of the Starks and Baratheons to destroy House Targaryen, your lords failed to eliminate me. Behold, you kneel before a dragon once more.”

“I live to serve you, Your Grace, and the King. My father and uncles are all gone. My aunt took her own life after a red priestess burned my cousin at the stake. Grant me the honor of taking my father's name so that I may pledge the stags to you. I swear by the old gods and the new that I will bring back the glory of House Baratheon as faithful servants of the Crown.”

_The boy has been taught well. But I’ve heard this kind of talk before._

After contemplating over her next response, she looked sideways at her husband who returned her glance.

The Queen then turned back to the boy, “Since your lord father is not here to speak for you, how do you intend to prove your claim?”

The young boy cleared his throat as one of the knights passed a scroll of parchment to Lord Tyrion who unfurled it and started to peruse the document quickly.

“Robert Baratheon has acknowledged Edric Storm as his bastard, his signature on this document seems legitimate. I have heard Robert himself admit to siring a bastard by Delena Florent but never offered legitimization to him. You were raised at Storm’s End, were you not?” The Lord Hand directed this last question to the Baratheon bastard.

The boy nodded, “Yes, my lord. Under the guardianship of my uncle, Renly Baratheon. When my uncle crowned himself King and left Storm’s End, it was discovered that Cersei Lannister was sending gold cloaks across the country to hunt down all of my father’s bastards. With my cousin, Lord Andrew Estermont and a few trusted guards, we took a ship to Lys and have been there ever since.”

“The world has changed since you’ve been gone, Edric Storm.” Dany began, “Dragons have been reborn and fly over Westeros once more. The false kings and queens who have schemed and murdered for a chance to sit on the Iron Throne have all perished in one form or another. I have reclaimed my rightful position as ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and I have every intention of keeping it that way for years to come.”

The boy bowed his head, opting to remain silent.

“Despite my wish to see House Baratheon crumble into dust and fade from memory, the Stormlands are still one of my Kingdoms and I have a duty to look after its welfare.” The Queen leaned forward in her seat, “Therefore, I will name you Edric Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Additionally, I offer you a position on my Small Council as Master of Laws.”

Edric Storm looked back up in surprise.

“Your Grace, the boy is only seventeen!” The Grand Maester exclaimed from the sidelines amidst the renewed rumblings of the attendants.

“And I am but one and twenty, Grand Maester yet here I am, Queen and Mother of Dragons. Do not presume that valor, wisdom or integrity can be dictated by one's age. I am not unaware of the boy's youth nor of his potential to advise me in matters of justice and law.” The Queen responded back, she then returned her attention to Edric Storm.

“What say you, my lord?” Dany asked, “Will you pledge yourself to me and serve me loyally and faithfully from this day till your last day?”

The boy's dark blue eyes was fixed on the Queen, “Yes, Your Grace. I pray to the Seven that I will serve you better than my forebears. From this day till my last day.”

The Queen sat back down on her chair, her hands folded on her lap, “Then rise, Lord Edric of House Baratheon. Storm's End is yours and the Stormlands are under your protection. Swear fealty to me by drawing your sword and laying it at my feet.”

The dark-haired lad rose to his feet with a look of intense emotion on his face. He drew his sword from his scabbard and lay it on the dais where the King and Queen were seated at.

“Long may you reign, my Queen… and my King.” Lord Baratheon stated with a low bow of his head.

Dany nodded and she gave her husband a cursory glance. The King in the North kept his jaw tightened but he nodded his head as well.

“We look forward to seeing your presence at our next Small Council meeting… Lord Baratheon.” The Northern King indicated in a guarded but civil tone.

“Thank you, Your Graces.” The boy replied.

Then gesturing to his knights, the new Lord of Storm's End took his place at one of the benches on the side of the Ballroom.

Dany breathed a subtle sigh and turned to her Hand, “Is that everything, my Lord Hand?”

To her surprise, Tyrion's brow furrowed, “Not quite, Your Grace. It seems Ser Davos Seaworth has requested an audience with you as well.”

The Queen looked to her husband who seemed equally concerned.

“Is this of your doing, my lord husband?” Dany asked.

The King in the North shook his head, “I know nothing of this.”

Dany hummed then said, “Very well. Let us see what the Onion Knight would demand of us in full view of the royal court.”

“Ser Davos Seaworth! Come forth with your request for the Queen and the King-consort.” Lord Tyrion called out.

From the back of the room, Dany took note of her husband’s advisor walking towards them and beside him, he brought a dark-haired young man clad in thin peasant clothes. The lad’s hands and arms were blackened by soot and he carried a large pack on his back.

“Ser Davos,” Dany greeted cordially, “As my lord husband's closest advisor, I will allow you speak freely. What would you have of me?”

The old knight put both his hands on the young man's shoulders, “I beg your deepest pardons, Your Grace. I understand you only planned to legitimize seven bastards this day. But I would make a petition for one more.”

“Why? Who is he to you?” She asked.

“This is Gendry. A blacksmith from Flea Bottom by trade… and the bastard son of Robert Baratheon.” The Onion Knight answered.

There was a collective gasp of surprise from the attendants in the room. Lord Edric frowned as his knights murmured to him in low whispers.

Dany raised a hand to silence the room, “I have already made one Baratheon Lord of the Stormlands, I cannot make another. Furthermore, what proof have you to his legitimacy?”

“Cersei’s gold cloaks were after him but the red woman got to him first. She used his blood for her dark magic to her god so as to help Stannis during the War of the Five Kings. Your maester Pylos on Dragonstone can attest to this fact. We helped the lad escape from Dragonstone and hid him back here in King's Landing.” Ser Davos answered.

“Right under my sister's nose.” Lord Tyrion mused, “Here we thought that, save for Lord Edric, all of Robert's bastards were successfully massacred by my sister.”

“Not all of them, milord.” The dark-haired bastard answered, his eyes finding his half-brother on the side.

Dany leaned back on her chair, mulling over the situation.

“Ser Davos says you’re a blacksmith?” Dany asked.

Gendry turned to her and nodded, “Aye, I am, Your Grace. Apprenticed under Master Tobho Mott.”

“Where’s your Master now?”

Gendry dropped his eyes, “Dead. From the wildfire.”

Tyrion looked to the Queen, “The Street of Steel and the Street of Silk suffered extensive damage from the wildfire explosions, Your Grace.”

“And where were you when all this happened?” Dany questioned.

“Trying to save as many people as I could. Killed a few Lannisters on the way, with this.” From his pack, Gendry pulled out a large warhammer, etched on the metal head were stag antlers similar to the brooch on Lord Edric’s doublet.

The Queen smirked, intrigued, “Your father’s son, indeed.”

She tilted her head and then looked over to her husband, “It seems I may be in need your wisdom, my lord husband. Your advisor was the one who brought him before us, after all.”

Jon Snow grunted as he stood on his feet and walked down towards his advisor and the blacksmith.

“I make better swords than hammers though, Your Grace. They be nothin’ like yours though. Valyrian steel and all. But my blades can still cut into metal like warm butter. See for yourself.” Gendry stated hurriedly as he returned the warhammer into his pack and pulled out a heavy longsword in a dark brown leather scabbard. 

Jon took the sword from him and slowly unsheathed it. There were small symbols and writing etched along the bottom edge of the blade. Tossing the scabbard aside, the King in the North ran his finger along the side of the sharp steel, then he swung the sword testing its weight and balance.

Without warning, the King aimed the sword towards one of the braziers beside the dais. The sword easily slicing through the metal rods, the fire and live coals toppling over on to the stone floor. The onlookers gasped in shock, but Jon quickly extinguished the fire with his boot.

He threw the sword back to Gendry who caught it with an expert hand.

“It’s a good sword. You have quite a skill, blacksmith. If the men of the North could work with blades like this, our battles would have been won far sooner.” The King in the North commented, then he turned to the Queen, “You will be in need of a new Master Smith. He may yet prove useful to us if we keep him close.”

His grey steel eyes finding Lord Baratheon who was struggling to remain silent.

Dany smirked, “It seems we are of like minds.”

Then she looked to the Onion Knight, “Ser Davos, as impressed as my husband and I are with the blacksmith, I unfortunately cannot grant your request. However...”

At this, the Queen addressed Gendry, “I would like to commend you for your courage during the fall of King’s Landing and I would have you rewarded for your valiance. You will be granted the title of Master Smith and given a new shop and smithy once the Street of Steel has been cleared and rebuilt.”

“Grand Maester, have a tutor sent over to advise and train Master Gendry in matters of nobility and state. Even if he isn’t a Baratheon, he may yet have a future as a lord.”

“Your Grace, I must protest!” This came from Lord Edric, the boy was on his feet, his fists clenched, “He is a low-born bastard!”

Ghost bared his teeth and softly snarled at the Baratheon Lord while Dany retorted, “Speak out of turn again, Lord Baratheon and your protests will turn to ashes in your mouth.”

Edric turned to the King, “My king, you know I would never--"

“If my wife’s threat fell on deaf ears, my lord, be assured that neither my sword nor my direwolf will help you hear it better.” Jon answered him as he returned to sit on his chair.

The Baratheon bastards glared at one another and the Queen smiled in amusement.

“Master Gendry.” She called to him as she stood and picked up the sword that Lord Edric had lain at her feet.

“Perhaps you can serve your half-brother better by making him a sword worthy of your House. It would seem this one pales in comparison to your war hammer.” She said as she extended the hilt of the sword towards the blacksmith. There was a murmured chuckle from the spectators at this remark.

Gendry approached her and took the sword, bowing, “Your will. My hands. Your Grace.”

Satisfied, the Queen nodded to him as the blacksmith returned to the Onion Knight.

“Lord Baratheon, I would advise you to leave a guard here with your brother. It would be unfortunate if anything should befall him and it would do you well to keep him safe.” Dany finished, smiling dryly at Lord Edric who sat back down.

Before Lord Tyrion could open his mouth to announce the culmination of the day's ceremonies, there was a ruckus behind the Queen's Ballroom doors. Ghost stood on his paws, his ears alert.

“What’s going on?” Dany demanded turning to her Hand. But the Lannister dwarf had no answers.

Ser Barristan immediately came to her side with his sword at the ready while the Queensguard moved to the front of the stage. The King also had his hand on his sword's hilt but remained seated.

Just then, the doors of the Ballroom swung open and in strode a figure who's face was hidden underneath a light brown shawl wrapped around its head and mouth. In its hand was a dirty sack that looked to be stained with blood. In the other hand was a small thin sword slick with more blood.

Following behind the figure was an enormous animal with white and gray fur and golden eyes.

“Is that a…” Lord Tyrion started.

“A direwolf.” Jon breathed out as he stood up, his hand on his own direwolf's neck keeping Ghost at bay.

A group of Unsullied soldiers stormed into the room but before they could reach the interloper, the Queen commanded, “ _Keligon! {Stop!}”_

To their surprise, the intruder spoke out loud, “ _Rȳbagon naejot aōha Dāria, Dovaogēdy. Gaomā daor jorrāelagon naejot morghūljagon tubī. {Listen to your Queen, Unsullied. You do not need to die today.}_

Dany fumed.

_Who is this?_

“ _Valar Morghulis,_ Daenerys Stormborn.” The voice was that of a young girl's.

“ _Qilōni issi ao? Skoros gaomagon jaelā?  {Who are you? What do you want?}”_ The Queen seethed.

The girl clicked her tongue in disapproval, “ _Konir sagon daor se paktot udligon, iksis ziry? Kostilus īlon ȳdragon se Quptenkys Ēngos sīr tolvys kostagon shifang {That isn’t the right response now, is it? Perhaps we should switch to the Common Tongue so we can be better understood.}_

“A girl has a gift for the Dragon Queen.” The figure stated holding up the bloody sack.

Tucking her sword into her belt, the girl’s free hand reached into the sack and pulled out a decapitated head.

“Here is the head of the Mad Queen, Cersei Lannister! Long may she reign… in Hell!”

The attendants in the room gasped and a few ladies shrieked as the head was thrown at the foot of the stage in front of the Queensguard.

As the head rolled to a stop, Dany's amethyst eyes widened as she saw dirty blonde hair and the face of what looked to be a woman who had the unmistakable emerald green eyes of a Lannister.

The scroll in Tyrion's hand clattered to the floor as he fell to his knees.

“Ser Barristan. I want everyone escorted out of this room. Now.” The Queen commanded. Then looking up, she passed the same directive to her Unsullied soldiers who started marshalling people to the doors.

Her Lord Commander said to her in low voice, “Shall I have the Queensguard detain this girl, Your Grace.”

“No.” The Queen answered, “The only ones I want in here are my Lord Hand, my husband… and _her._ ”

“But my Queen!” Her Lord Commander protested.

“Your Queen has spoken. See it done!” Dany responded harshly. Reluctantly, Ser Barristan passed orders to the Queensguard and they moved away from their position to usher the lords and ladies out of the Ballroom.

Dany noticed the girl had her eyes on the blacksmith who, along with Ser Davos, turned to leave the room.

When everyone had gone, and the doors to the Ballroom were shut, the girl turned back to the Queen. Her face still shrouded and the bloody bag still in hand.

“Reveal yourself this instant. I would look upon the face of Cersei Lannister’s killer.”

A low chuckle, “A girl does not wish to lie to the Dragon Queen. But it was not a girl who killed Cersei Lannister. That honor belongs to the Kingslayer.”

She reached into the sack  again and threw down a golden casted hand stained with blood that gave a loud _thunk_ as it slid across the stone floor.

Dany could hear Tyrion give a strangled cry as he bowed his head.

“Ha! That was the same sound the Mad Queen made when her own twin brother squeezed the life out of her.” The girl said with smug amusement.

“All the same. Remove your covering, girl, by order of your Queen.” Dany stated, her emotions cooling.

“A girl does not submit to the Dragon Queen but she will obey, just this once.” Came the reply.

The stranger's hands moved first to lower the shawl from the top of her head, revealing dark brown hair that tumbled down from the shawl. Then, after a brief pause, the girl pulled down the shawl to reveal her face.

_Her eyes… her hair… by the gods, she almost looks like…_

“Arya?” The name escaped her husband's lips in a raspy whisper.

Tyrion looked up at the sound of her name, his face a mix of emotions while his cheeks were wet with tears.

The girl gazed at the King in the North blankly and shook her head, “It pains me to tell His Grace that Arya Stark of Winterfell is dead. A girl has no name. A girl is no one.”

_She looks so much like him…_

Dany turned her eyes to her husband who, for the first time, looked incredibly shaken and pale, it seemed like he had just seen a ghost.

She faced the girl once more. The girl's voice was an exotic mix of accents but Dany could faintly distinguish the Northern drawl tainted with what sounded like a Braavosi lilt.

“No one?” Dany asked, “Is that what we are to call you?”

The girl smirked and walked forward, “All Faceless Men are without names. Names are only for those who are to receive the gift of the Many-Faced God.”

_The Many-Faced God? Faceless Men?_

The terms were familiar to Dany. She had heard of the followers of the Many-Faced God before when she used to live in Braavos. They were skilled and deadly killers who could change their own faces as easily as one changed clothes. Perhaps this wasn’t Arya Stark, perhaps she really was dead and her face was being worn by one of these Faceless assassins.

“But if you were to call a girl by a name, a girl has grown rather fond of ‘Mercy'.”

“Mercy?” Dany repeated.

“Yes,” The girl grinned, “It’s what those with names say to a girl before she closes their eyes forever. Mercy is the Many-Faced God's blessing and curse. Quite fitting for a girl then, isn’t it?”

“Arya…” Jon said again. His hand had loosened around Ghost's neck and the direwolf bounded forward when all of a sudden, the girl's grey and white direwolf stepped in between her and Ghost, snarling and snapping threateningly.

Ghost stopped and backtracked, lifting a paw and sniffing the air. He bared his teeth back but then licked his nose before he turned to look up at Jon.

“A girl's direwolf is protective, she is not a tame animal. A girl's direwolf lived in the forests for many years until a girl found her. But a girl has no control over her.” Mercy stated with a shrug.

“Cersei Lannister.” Dany said, drawing the attention back to the rotting head at her feet, “How did you find her and why did you bring her head to me?”

“The Many-Faced God wanted her. The Dragon Queen wanted her. It matters not how she was found. A name was given, the name was Cersei Lannister. A girl only does what the Many-Faced God requires of her and he wills that a girl deliver Cersei Lannister's head to you.” Mercy explained as she shouldered the bloody sack.

“Are there more heads in that bag of yours, Mercy?” The Queen asked.

Mercy grinned again, “Yes, Dragon Queen. The one they called Ser Robert Strong, who was previously Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, before the Viper of Dorne killed him. A girl also took the face of his maker, the exiled maester Qyburn. Their names were required by the Many-Faced God as well.”

“J-Jaime.” Tyrion stammered, but the lion's growl was in his throat, “You only brought his hand. Where is his head?”

The girl only shrugged once more, “The Kingslayer is gone, imp.”

“Where is his head?!” Tyrion roared as he got to his feet but Mercy's direwolf made a vicious sound as it stepped towards the Hand of the Queen.

“Enough, Lord Tyrion. Your siblings are dead. There’s nothing more to be said about it.” Dany said in a calm but severe tone.

Dany walked down the stage and stood in front of the young girl whose looks were nearly identical to that of her lord husband’s.

“You have done the realm a great service. Ask me anything and if it is within my power, you will have it.” The Queen stated.

Mercy tilted her head, pretending to ponder the question, “A girl always wanted a dragon. But a girl is not stupid.”

Then she dropped the sack to the floor, “A girl will give you this and a girl will take her payment. One thousand gold dragons and a ship.”

“A ship?” Dany asked, “Why a ship?”

“The Many-Faced God desires many others to receive his gift. A girl can serve him better if she had a ship.” Mercy answered simply.

“My Lord Hand.” Dany called, her eyes looking sideways at her Hand who was blankly staring at the floor. His watery green eyes looked up to his Queen.

“Give the girl what she asked for. See it done before the end of the day.” She commanded.

“Y-your… Y-your Grace.” He stuttered in confusion.

“I will not say it again.” Dany said as she brushed past him as she sat back on her chair in the centre of the dais.

“You are welcome to anything you wish in King's Landing, Mercy. The whole of Westeros will know of your noble deed in vanquishing the enemies of your Queen.” Dany declared in a formal tone.

Mercy snorted, “A girl does not do noble deeds, Dragon Queen, and a girl wishes to remain where she belongs, in the shadows. We Faceless Men need not be known. We are no one. _Valar Dohaeris, Dāria Zaldrīzoti._ ”

The girl turned on her heel, her direwolf following closely beside her. She opened the Ballroom doors and sauntered out.

“Wait…Wait!” The King in the North called out as he ran after her, Ghost sprinting beside him. But the girl and her direwolf seemed to have dissolved into the air as by the time he ran out into the hall, she was gone.

When her husband did not return, Dany looked down at her Lord Hand, who had sunk back down to the ground at the foot of the stage. Though it went against her usual demeanor, Dany felt a pang of sympathy in her heart for the Lannister.

“For what it is worth, I did not intend for the end of your sister and brother to be this way. I had hoped that I could have had a word or two with the infamous lioness and her brother, so they could answer for their crimes. But you must know by now that death would have come to them one way or another. Your brother killed my father and your sister murdered thousands of innocents in the city. Would you have shown them any mercy if they had been brought back to King's Landing alive?”

Tyrion gave her no answer.

At his continued silence, Dany’s voice turned cold, “Take the heads and put them on spikes in the city square. I want everyone to see what becomes of the Queen's enemies. Whether by my hand or not, this is the fate of every traitor of the realm. Will you see it done, my Lord Hand?”

When she still heard nothing, she bristled, “Your Queen asked you a question!”

“I will see it done.” Came the defeated response. Her Lord Hand staggered to his feet and made his way to the doors.

When Dany was finally alone, she closed her eyes.

_Enemies are like weeds. If they aren’t plucked out root and stem, they would multiply and grow. The Lannisters were finally defeated and gone from the world… all save for one._

She breathed in and let out a long sigh.

_Perhaps now I can finally reign in peace._

But as she opened her eyes and stared down at the severed head of Cersei Lannister, Dany felt many things… but peace was not one of them.

* * *

 

 

JON

_Arya…_

Back in his solar, Jon rested his hands on the edge of the open window sill. His eyes shut as a sharp pain throbbed within his chest. He had cast off his royal garments and was back in his regular dark-brown tunic. Tendrils of dark curls fell out of his knot and unto his face.

_Was that really you, little sister? How can it be?_

In his tattered memory, he could make out the face of a boyish girl who preferred shooting arrows from a bow and playing with wooden swords in the courtyard rather than sitting and knitting indoors with the other girls.

_Jon! Let me have a go! It’s my turn!_

He could hear her voice yelling playfully at him as she tried to wrest a bow from his hand.

_She used to laugh whenever I mussed her hair._

The girl who stood in the Queen's ballroom had his little sister's face but her voice was different and the way she looked at him, like she didn’t even recognize him. Her grey eyes were that of a stone cold killer.

_“Arya Stark of Winterfell is dead.”_

_No… no…_

Jon felt his hands shake. He took a few deep breaths.

When was the last time he saw his little sister? Or heard of her? He couldn’t remember.

_But the direwolf…_

_Jon, look at this! Nymeria, gloves! Come on, girl!_

The direwolf…. If there was anything that could have proved that that was his sister, it would be the direwolf.

Jon felt Ghost bump his snout against his side. Jon scratched behind the snow white direwolf's head without looking down at him.

_She just disappeared… how could she and that monster of a direwolf just disappear?_

A rapid tap on the door interrupted his thoughts. He heard the door creak open.

“Apologies, Your Grace, but there is—"

“Did I not say that I was not to be disturbed?” Jon barked angrily without looking at the guard who had entered his quarters.

He listened as the door close shut and Jon exhaled hard.

“Not even to see me, Jon?”

His eyes widened, his heart felt like it had stopped all over again.

_That voice…_

He turned slowly and he stopped as his grey eyes met her own, which were slowly filling up with tears.

She was dressed in a Stark soldier's armor, in her hand was what looked liked a mask made of flesh and hair. She tossed the mask aside and quickly removed the armor revealing the traveler’s clothes that she had worn earlier in the Ballroom.

“Arya…?” He breathed out.

“Jon.” She responded, her voice quivering.

He didn’t even think. He couldn’t.

He rushed forward and his little sister was in his arms. She was much taller than he remembered, her hair longer. She sobbed into his neck as he fell to his knees, taking her with him. She wrapped her thin arms tighter as her tears fell on him. 

“I knew it had to be… I knew…” Jon said, his voice thick with emotion.

Jon pulled back to look at her and he couldn’t help but laugh as he brushed away his sister's tears. She smiled as he did so.

“I’ve missed you, big brother.”

Jon pressed his forehead against hers until Ghost came in between them and licked Arya's tears.

She giggled, “Ghost! You’re just as big as Nymeria!”

Jon stood up and helped his sister back on her feet. She had one hand on Ghost's fur as she rubbed her eyes with the other.

“So that really was Nymeria?” Jon asked.

Arya answered, “She found me when I returned to Westeros and well… now she won’t leave my side.”

“Returned to Westeros? You left?”

His little sister nodded once more.

“For how long?”

“A while.” She answered.

Just then, what had happened in the Ballroom came to Jon's mind and he placed a hand on Arya's cheek.

“What’s happened to you? And when you were with the Queen? You seemed a different person.”

Arya swallowed hard and her face grew serious, “A lot has happened since we last saw each other, Jon. The person who you saw in front of the Queen… that is who I am now.”

Jon gestured to the chairs in the room and they both sat across from each other.

“Start at the beginning. You don’t have to tell me everything.” He said as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and folding his hands.

Arya took a moment to collect her thoughts, then she started, “I was in the square when Father died. He saw me. But Yoren from the Night's Watch… he saved me, passed me off as a boy and that’s how I escaped King’s Landing. We got captured by the Lannisters, Yoren died. The soldiers took us to Harrenhaal where I met a Faceless Man who set us free. I met the Brotherhood without Banners as well. They were going to take me to Mother and to Robb.”

At this point, she took a deep breath before continuing, “I was at the Twins, Jon, I was there when the Red Wedding happened. I saw them kill Grey Wind… I saw them put his head on Robb's body…”

Jon reached forward to hold her hand but she reflexively pulled away.

“I was with the Hound for a while too.”

“Sandor Clegane?” Jon asked.

Arya nodded, “He was the one who took me to the Twins, hoping to get a reward from Robb. He rescued me and we travelled to the Eyrie but when we got there, Aunt Lysa was already dead too. A lady knight came and tried to take me. The Hound fought her and lost and I left him for dead.”

“That lady knight sounds like Lady Brienne of Tarth. She’s at Winterfell now, at the service of Lady Stark.” Jon commented.

“Lady Stark? You mean Sansa?” Arya asked, there was a cold gleam in her eyes.

“Aye. Sansa.” Jon answered, “She’s alive as well and still here, in King's Landing.”

“I know.” His little sister's face bore a hardened expression, “I heard the guards talking.”

Jon shook his head, eager to hear the rest of her story, “Then after. What happened after Lady Brienne fought the Hound?”

“After…” Arya stated, “I left Westeros. I went to Braavos. It was where my dancing master was from and where the Faceless Man I met told me to go. I came to this place called the House of Black and White where Arya Stark died and became no one.”

“You aren’t dead, Arya, you are right here.” Jon insisted.

Arya sat up straighter in her seat, “No, Jon. I gave up that name… that life…I had to.”

Jon stood up from his seat and walked back towards the window. His mind pondering over his sister's words.

“I know what’s happened to you.” Arya said, and the ache in Jon's chest reemerged.

“How?”

“I hear whispers. I know things, many things about many people. I’ve met the red woman… Lady Melisandre before. I’ve also met a man raised from the dead six times by the red god. He told me what it was like being brought back… how he loses pieces of himself to the darkness each time.”

Jon felt a flash behind his eyes and the feel of steel piercing his chest.

He held on to the wall for support. His hands growing cold.

“The red woman. She was the one who brought you back, wasn’t she?”

“Aye.” He responded deeply.

“And what did you lose to the darkness, Jon?” Arya asked.

_Everything… my memories… my life… my very soul…_

He flexed his fingers before tightening them into a fist.

“Too much.” He took a breath, “I lost… too much…”

Arya got up from her chair, “I’ve heard other whispers as well, about what you did to the men who murdered you, to the Boltons and to Ramsay.”

“They were all traitors, they deserved their fates.” A bitter voice came out of Jon's mouth.

“I don’t blame you.” Arya said as she approached him, “The North Remembers. I would have done the same if I were in your place. In fact, I already have.”

She rested a hand on his shoulder, “It wasn’t an easy thing, baking Freys into pies. Poisoning thousands of them though… I may not be a great baker but I can give a toast better than any lord.”

A look of realization came upon Jon's face as he turned to look at his sister, “That was you? You killed the Freys?”

Arya looked unperturbed, “The Many-Faced God detests oath breakers and those who willingly defy the sacred customs of the gods. It took me many years before I could prove myself worthy enough to offer their names to the Many-Faced God. But he finally answered my prayers and gave me the chance to finish my list.”

“Your list of what?”

Her grey eyes darkened, “People who needed to die for what they did to us and to our family. Cersei, Joffrey, The Mountain, Ser Ilyn Payne, Ser Meryn Trant, Walder Frey, the Boltons… my list had so many names, at one point, it became difficult to keep track of all of them. I gave my list to the Many-Faced God at the start of my training and when I passed his tests, he gave it back to me. Some names he had already taken, but others he left to me.”

“Those people… are they all dead now?”

“Yes. Thanks to him. My list is nearly complete.” Arya said as she turned away from her brother.

“Nearly? There’s more? Who else is on your list?” Jon questioned her.

“I can’t tell you that. Those names are between a girl and the Many-Faced God.” Her voice was slowly returning to the icy tone she had used in the presence of the Queen.

Jon furrowed his brows, “Arya. I’m sending Sansa back to Winterfell in a few days' time. I need someone I can trust to keep an eye on her. If you go with her, you could be back home—”

“I’m sorry, Jon.” Arya cut him off in a scathing tone, “But I can’t. I told you. Arya Stark of Winterfell is dead and a girl… is no one.”

“I can command you as your King.” Jon responded sternly.

Her grey eyes shimmered as she glanced back at him, “You may be a King now, brother, but you are not my King. The Faceless Men serve only death and his many, many faces.”

She sighed, “I didn’t come here to argue or to ask you to bring me home. I’m here because… I have something to give you.”

She drew the thin sword that she had tucked into her belt.

“Do you remember this, Jon?” She asked in a low voice as she held the sword lightly in her hand.

Jon paused before nodding, “I gave that to you… before we left Winterfell.”

“What is it called?”

He searched his mind but only came up with blank pages.

“It’s Needle.” She answered for him, “Like Sansa's needles. Remember?”

Jon couldn’t remember. It was another part of him that had been ripped away by the darkness.

“Even though I was asked to give up everything that belonged to Arya Stark, I couldn’t give this one up. Needle is you. Needle is Father and Mother. Bran, Robb, Rickon and even Sansa. Needle is Winterfell and the Starks and the North. Needle is home and Needle kept me alive for many years.” Her eyes were filling with tears once again.

“I carried this with me, hoping that one day, I would see you again.” She said softly, “Needle has helped me give many names to the Many-Faced God and for that… I have only you to thank.”

She walked back towards Jon, “Arya Stark… she’s just another face I wear now. Another person that I can become. A girl allowed herself to be Arya Stark once more because it was Arya Stark’s greatest wish to see her brother who she loves and misses so much. But Arya Stark's time has passed and so has her need for this.”

Arya held Needle carefully in both her hands and after a long moment, she extended her arms and offered it to Jon.

Jon slowly shook his head, “No. I cannot take it… I will not.”

“Arya Stark lived a sad and painful life. She watched her Father die, left her sister to her enemies, saw her brother’s mutilated body and was told her mother's throat had been cut open. Arya Stark has killed, lied and fought to survive in a shit world full of monsters and evil men. All she had was her list and her sword. The list she gave to the Many-Faced God. Her sword she gives to you.”

Arya pressed Needle against Jon's chest, her face drenched with her tears, “Arya Stark would want you to have it. Please.”

Jon felt his hand close around the pin-thin blade.

“What am I to do with this?” Jon murmured.

Arya stepped back and she gave him a sad and wet smile, “Stick ‘em with the pointy end.”

She gave Ghost one final pet on the head as she passed him. She moved back towards the door where she had dropped the armor and the face she had worn coming in, she looked back at Jon, “The Many-Faced God is pleased with you, Jon Snow. You’ve given him many names in the past and a girl believes you will continue to give him many more.”

“Arya…Wait…”

“Good... Goodbye, Jon.” She breathed out, a pained tremor in her voice.

She slipped on the Stark armor and in a blink of an eye, his sister disappeared, and in her place stood a young soldier with a stranger’s face.

“Your Grace.” The soldier bowed his head low, then he opened the door and slipped out before Jon could do or say anything else.

Just like that. She was gone.

He stood transfixed on the spot for a few moments, Needle in his hands.

_Stick ‘em with the pointy end._

His fists closed around the steel blade.

_Arya Stark of Winterfell is dead…_

_Her brother who she loves and misses so much…_

A tremble of rage and anguish surged down his arms.

_It’s Needle… Remember?_

_Not even to see me, Jon?…_

His eyes closed as he held on to her voice. He wanted to hear her laugh again, he wanted to keep her smile.

_Needle is you…_

_What did you lose to the darkness, Jon?_

His heart raced wildly as a tormented cry escaped his lips.

_Arya…_

Jon didn’t feel the blood that dripped down the blade and on to the floor… nor did he hear the sound of metal breaking in his hands…

* * *

 

MERCY

The low echo of a long-winded howl pierced the night sky. A large direwolf stood on a hill, the mists of its warm breath lingering in the moonlight. The lights from the lanterns and torches of King's Landing glowed at a distance.

A few meters away, a shadowy figure wrapped in a thick cloak was leaning against the snow-covered stump of a tree, a small fire burning at its feet. In the figure’s hand was a whetstone scraping against the metal of a long dirk. The sound of the stone against the blade intermingled with the crackling of the fire.

A breeze rustled through the trees and the figure paused. Grey eyes looking up.

“A girl heard a man creeping from a mile away. If a man's intention was to surprise her, he is doing a terrible job at it.”

Another dark figure emerged from the trees, boots crunching over fresh snow. The visitor lowered his hood, revealing an older man with a streak of white through his dark copper hair, an amused smirk on his lips.

“ _Valar Morghulis.”_ He greeted.

“ _Valar Dohaeris.”_ She responded though in a much less welcoming manner.

“A man knows better than to walk into a wolf's den knowing his scent has already been caught.” The man replied.

“Yet here you are anyway.” Mercy grumbled, continuing to sharpen her blade, “What do you want? I thought you said you were never coming back to Westeros.”

“A man does what the Many-Faced God demands, just as a girl does.” He responded, his eyes taking note of the weapon in the girl's hands.

“The Many-Faced God demanded you to hover over me like a mother hen?” Mercy scowled.

“Tales of a girl's exploits have traveled far and wide. Over the Narrow Sea to the belly of the Braavosi canals. A girl is overconfident and stubborn. Never has a Faceless Man been so blatant and indulgent with the Many Faced God's gift.” The man stated in a warning tone.

“Names were given, names were offered. How a girl chooses to do so is none of your business.” Mercy responded acridly.

She reached into her satchel and pulled out a heavy money bag. Throwing it to the ground in front of the man, a clatter of gold coins spilling from the mouth of the bag unto the white snow.

“A thousand gold dragons. All in service to the Many-Faced God.” The girl said proudly as she leaned back.

The man watched her carefully as he walked around the bag of gold.

“And the ship?”

“Waiting in Blackwater Bay, ready to sail by morning.” She answered.

The man hummed in his throat, “A girl has done well, despite the less desirable methods she has chosen to use in completing the tasks.”

She sighed in annoyance, her attention turned back to her dirk, “If there is nothing else, a girl wishes to be left alone.”

The direwolf howled again and the man gazed at the large beast.

There was a twinkle in the man’s pale green eyes as he remarked, “A man is curious. How did it feel to be Arya Stark of Winterfell once more?”

Mercy felt her muscles tighten as she moved her eyes to look away from him, “Arya Stark is gone.”

“So a girl says. Yet there stands Arya Stark's direwolf.”

Mercy forcefully slid the whetstone down her blade, creating a high pitched sound, “The direwolf does not answer to me. She goes where she wills and even if I wanted to I can’t send her away.”

“Is it perhaps because a girl still has a name?”

“A girl has no name!” She yelled back.

“Does a girl want to play the Game of Faces once more? If a man recalls, a girl lost her eyes the last time she played and lost.”

The girl abruptly rose to her feet, her dagger in her hand, “What more does the Many-Faced God want of me? Have I not given him enough? I gave up my name, my family, my sword! I walked away from my own brother after I told him I would never see him as my King! You’ve taken away my eyes, my tongue, my hands… my very soul and still you demand more!”

“A girl is losing her temper. The price a girl has to pay has always been high because a girl never learns.” The man chided, his hands behind his back, “The Many-Faced God has been more than generous after all a girl has endured because he believes that a girl has so much more to offer to him in return. Did he not give a girl the Freys? The Lannisters? Does she wish to receive the name of the King in the North next?”

She lifted her blade threateningly, “If you so much as lay a hand on my brother, I will tear the faces off every single Faceless Man I can find.”

“But a girl has no brother… does she?” The man questioned, his face turning serious.

Mercy’s hand trembled. He was right. She was losing the game.

_No… a girl has no name…a girl knows no family… a girl is no one… no one…_

She sat back down on the ground and sheathed her blade, bowing her head low, “How can a girl serve?”

The man smiled and reached into his cloak, pulling out a small scroll, “The Many-Faced God is not eager for this one. He only asks that a girl watches and sees. When the time comes for the gift of mercy, a girl will know.”

He lay the scroll down on the snow as he picked up the bag of gold, leaving a few stray coins behind.

“Is it another name from Arya Stark's list?” She ventured to ask.

“Perhaps.”

The man lifted his hood and he drew close to the girl.

“A man will see a girl again.” The man stated with a final smile.

“A girl fucking hopes not.” Mercy answered with gritted teeth as she looked up at him.

“ _Valar Morghulis.”_

_“Valar Dohaeris.”_

“Remember. Only watch and see.” The man reminded her as he walked back into the forest and disappeared into the darkness behind the trees.

“Annoying cunt.” Mercy murmured as she got back up and walked towards the area in the snow where the scroll was.

She bent down and unfurled the parchment, reading the two words on it. As she read and reread the name on the scroll, a curious smile played on her lips.

Mercy tosses the scroll into the fire and watched as the flames quickly engulfed the parchment.

She heard the sound of her direwolf approaching her, Mercy looked and gave the direwolf a small smile.

“Looks like we're going North after all, girl.”

As she returned to where she had been sitting, Mercy lifted the furs that covered a patch of frozen ground. Peeking out from underneath was the gold scabbard of a Valyrian steeled longsword.

Mercy’s eyes narrowed, “But first, there’s a blacksmith that we need to see.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. For the beginning of the Sex Council - ehem - I mean Small Council meeting. I thought of it as like when you're daydreaming about stuff and you're not really paying attention to the dialogues going on. So I didn't put who said what and if the dialogue doesn't make sense, it shouldn't. Coz really when you're thinking about sex, what does make sense?
> 
> 2\. So in terms of Edric and Gendry. I still gave Gendry his storyline in the show, Edric just hid in Lys way sooner. I just thought Edric was a better bastard to make into Lord Baratheon than Gendry but hey at least there's a spare in case Edric decides to do a second rebellion. Also Gendry gets to be Master Smith! Woohoo!
> 
> 3\. Just FYI, Arya/Mercy is a GREAT Actress. Like Oscar worthy Actress. Don't believe everything you see on the surface.
> 
> 4\. I hope that first Arya/Jon moment does a bit of justice to what we saw. They actually get a conversation and there is a lot more meat to the reunion and I hope a more emotional punch.
> 
> 5\. OKAY. This is gonna be the BIG NOTE. I am taking my Arya in a new direction that I guess most people don't usually see, which is this Arya subscribes 100% (or at least tries to) to the Faceless Men Creed. You can't have super assassin powers without sacrifice. But as with all sacrifices, it's not completely perfect. There is still a bit of that rebellious Arya in her but she really wants to be the assassin that she is training to be. So she tries to constantly tell herself and others that Arya Stark is dead because to have the assassin powers you have to be no one. I hope that in this way, it solves that weird complication the show has where Arya goes rogue and there's literally NO consequences for her using the Faceless Men powers without ascribing to their philosophy/religion. (*whispers* and in the end it didn't matter anyway *screech*) 
> 
> 6\. I bended the Faceless Men rules just to be able to give the Frey and Lannister contracts to Arya as a part of her Faceless Man jobs. But I am highlighting the religion aspect of it a tad bit mixed in with Assassin Creed style missions. So, there's that.
> 
> 7\. Don't jump to conclusions with that last few lines. She's on a mission and as to that sword, she's not going to keep it BUT she will go and see a blacksmith. I do not think I will be writing that scene though, so I leave it to your imaginations :) 
> 
> 8\. I'm sorry about Needle. But think of it as a ... metaphor? Needle being given to Arya as she was growing up and it symbolizing her ties to her family and identity. And now... she has finally reached near final metamorphosis but... at what cost?
> 
> 9\. Nymeria isn't like Ghost because Ghost has a bit of Jon in him and vice versa. Nymeria is just this wild wild direwolf who hangs around Arya but since I'm not doing warging here, I'll just chalk it up to, Nymeria has this connection to Arya and she ain't leaving so Arya is gonna take her even . if.. she's not.. Arya anymore *shifty eyes* COOL ASSASSIN HAS A DIREWOLF. THX K BYE.
> 
> 10\. More side characters coming so yeah, it'll be a while for the plot to move, my apologies, I spend a lot of time in characters' heads. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks again for reading. I may add to the notes as I go along but this is all I got for now. 
> 
> Hope you are all doing well and enjoy!


	7. A Bleeding Poet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gets super emo and pisses off his wife. Ser Barristan notices something unusual. Sam arrives in KL and takes up a good chunk of this chapter. Our King and Queen bless the Dragonpit. Jon makes a confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! How are y'all doing this fine day/evening?
> 
> It's 2AM and I made my deadline to get this fic out before I leave on my vacay!
> 
> Thank you again to all those who have supported me in writing this fic. A big big shoutout to all of my Jonerys Discord friends who I've had a blast working with and who have kept my spirits up as I continue to recover from the shitshow that was Season 8 of Game of Thrones. Thank you guys for the feedback, the suggestions, the laughter and yes, even the tears - from laughing so hard.
> 
> I want to make an important announcement: I am going on vacation for the next 3 weeks so you're probably not gonna get an update from me till next month. Sorry, but your girl is going on her Euro Trip (I'll be in Belfast too! Not doing anything GOT related tho but I'll be thinking about it unfortunately while I'm there.) and it'll be great. 
> 
> So, I give you a 20K word chap for you all to keep you company for the next month. I wish you all are having a great summer and I hope to be back again with the next update in August. 
> 
> In the meantime, I'm working on some other great fics with other magnificent authors that I hope you all will follow too. 
> 
> Okay, that's it for me. Smut warning towards the end, because y'all ready know I ain't leaving you hanging without that. LOL. 
> 
> Love you all, take care <3
> 
> \- chin

* * *

JON

The bright orange-red glow of the fire reflected in the steel-grey eyes of the King in the North as he glared into it, searching the dancing flames for answers to questions that even his mind could not comprehend easily.

Both of his hands were bound with a white cloth as he leaned on them, pressing his lips on his thumbs, his elbows on his knees.

Suddenly, he felt two warm arms circle around his neck, and he stiffened up.

“My lord husband.” Her whisper low and husky in his ear.

He held on to his wife’s arm as he swallowed hard, “Your Grace.”

“You've been alone in this room for almost a week, my love. Is there anything that I can do to comfort you?” She asked in a soft voice as she rested her chin on his shoulder.

“Forgive me…” He began, but could not bring himself to complete his response.

Then, reluctantly, he untangled her arms from him as he moved away from the fire and towards the window, resting his hand on the stone wall.

It had been some time since he had been alone with her. The first night he had not visited her chambers, she made no mention of it when they broke their fast together with a few of their advisors in one of the smaller dining halls in the holdfast. But after he had let the second night pass without giving a reason for his absence, she visited him in the middle of the night.

But Jon couldn’t bring himself to give his wife what she so eagerly sought, his mind was too restless, his heart even more so. Even when she asked for nothing more but a private dinner together to talk over what had happened, he declined. He asked her for some time alone with his thoughts and she eventually consented.

However, it seemed that on that night she had had enough of being kept away.

She folded her arms across her chest, her long silver hair unbraided and loose, a thin long-sleeved nightgown covering her small frame. Patience waning in her voice.

“You have to talk to me, at least.”

There was a slight edge to her voice. He knew that she was struggling to hold back her natural tendency to demand and admonish in the typical fiery way that she used when reacting to things that were out of her control.

His forehead creased with unspoken pain and he answered, “There is nothing to say.”

“There is plenty to say.” She responded back.

_No… there isn’t…_

_What can I possibly say to her that she doesn’t already know?_

_My little sister sold her life to a cult that worshipped death…_

He felt her push against his arm and he turned to face his wife’s searing glare.

She grabbed both of his hands and looked down at them, “Do you think a man can cut both his hands with a broken sword and have nothing to say about it?”

Jon sighed as he extricated his hands from hers and moved past her, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I wouldn’t understand?” She repeated, her volume growing, “Do you think I am unfamiliar with anger or grief? Or the pain of losing someone I love?”

“Arya is not dead!” He snapped.

“She may not be, but that girl who walked in with the head of Cersei Lannister was a Faceless Man. I’ve heard of their kind before and the god they worship. These… assassins… they give up their entire lives, their own identities in order to use their powers and magic for their kills.” She explained, “My brother and I were fortunate enough to have survived for as long as we did. Had our names been given to a Faceless Man, we would have died a long time ago.”

The Queen took a steady breath and continued in a gentler voice, “I know you love her, and you must have worried for her all these years, perhaps you even thought she was dead. But your sister is gone, and as much as you wish her to, she will not be coming back. She’s chosen her path and this path is one that will last her entire life.”

Jon was breathing hard as he listened to his wife, his hands clenched but he said nothing to her in response. He knew she was right but for some reason, he was reluctant to admit to it.

He heard her exhale as she approached him once again, her sigh was tinged with resignation, “If you are insistent on being this way, so be it. There is a realm that I need to restore, a country to rebuild. If my lord husband intends on barricading himself in his quarters to be left alone to his silence, then I will leave him to it.”

She paused for a moment before she abruptly brushed past him and made her way to the door. The light of the fire in her silver hair as she walked away.

_Stop. Wait. Stay._

The words were on his lips, yet he couldn’t seem to speak them. He simply watched as his wife stormed out of his quarters, slamming the door hard behind her.

He closed his eyes and groaned with frustration.

Ghost was not with him tonight. He had been hunting in the Kingswood for the last few nights. Perhaps searching for his littermate and the girl she was accompanying.

He opened his eyes slowly and wandered morosely back to his chair by the fire. He leaned back on it and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

He wished he could have said something, anything, to stop his wife from leaving the way she did. She was understandably as frustrated as he was, and he knew that she was trying hard to be patient and understanding with him.

Jon also knew that he was being a difficult and unreasonable ass. His wife needed him and he needed her too.

Yet… the pain in his chest remained.

He moved his hand back and stared at the bindings that were wrapped around his palm. He clenched his hand, the wound feeling as fresh as if he had just cut it open anew.

_Arya…_

His sisters. One held captive in her room, with only her wine and her thoughts to keep her company. The other a merciless killer who had abandoned her name, her family and her home.

His brothers. Two dead and the last one was waiting in a cold and forsaken place a thousand leagues from where he was.

_The lone wolf dies… but the pack survives…_

But the pack was dead and scattered. His father was dead. His aunt and uncles were all dead too.

His mother, whoever she was, was most likely dead as well. Or if by some fate she was still alive, how would he possibly know?

Who did he have left?

_You have her…_

Jon looked up at his door, wondering if he should have gone after the Queen. But the ache burning within him kept him rooted to his seat.

He ran his hand over his face. The cloth scraping against his skin.

_Sharp steel. Pain. Darkness. Blood on the snow._

He yearned to be free of it, to find some form of release. Standing from his seat, Jon walked towards the chair upon which he had draped his thick, wolf pelt cloak. Pulling the cloak over his shoulders, he fastened the straps over his chest.

Then, he took Longclaw from the side of his bed and tied the scabbard to his belt.

He yearned for blood. But he knew that there was no enemy to slay… not in King's Landing at least.

_Blue eyes… dead hands… the bitter cold…_

A gruesome shiver ran down his spine.

_North… The North… it calls to me…_

Cursing under his breath, he threw open the door and walked out into the silent, stone-cold hallway, hoping the long walk would rid his mind of his demons which refused to stay silent. 

* * *

 

SER BARRISTAN

The Lord Commander of the Queensguard frowned deeply as he watched the King in the North hack away at a straw-filled dummy. Five other practice targets had been shredded and battered to pieces evidenced by the ripped burlap sacks, clumps of straw and sawdust littering the courtyard floor.

The Northern King had cast aside his thick cloak and was in a simple rolled-up undershirt, sweat pouring down his face as he grunted and heaved with each swing of his sword.

Ser Barristan rested his hands on the stone bannister that overlooked the outer courtyard of the Red Keep.

It was difficult for him to believe that the young man decimating the defenceless strawmen was a son of Lord Eddard Stark. Jon Snow had the look of the North about him, that much is clear, along with the sullen glumness befitting most Northern lords. But there was a burning rage in his grey eyes that was almost certainly uncharacteristic of any Stark, the stern and honorable Ned Stark most of all.

“How long has he been down there, Ser Barristan?” The unmistakable timbre of his Queen's voice spoke from behind him, interrupting his thoughts.

He turned to find Queen Daenerys accompanied by a small group of her Dothraki bloodriders.

“Since before dawn, Your Grace. Or so I have been told.” He responded.

His Queen came beside him, her light lilac eyes narrowed as she observed her husband below.

 _“Ajjin jin yeri sash Khal, Khaleesi? [Is that your new king, my Queen?]_ ” Qhono asked, a curious look in his dark eyes. The captain of her _ko_ had been away in the Westerlands where most of the Queen's _khalasar_ had settled, only just recently returned to provide his Queen with a report of how the Dothraki were faring in their new home.

“ _Sek.  Jini anna mahrazhkem, Jon Snow, jin Khal kijinosi Valshe . [Yes. That is my husband, Jon Snow, the King in the North.]_ ” Dany answered, a twinge of pride on the corner of her lips.

The Dothraki captain snorted as he gestured to the other bloodriders and made his way down to the courtyard.

Ser Barristan eyed them with concern but it seemed the Queen herself looked more amused than anxious as the small clutch of her Dothraki warriors gathered in the courtyard.

Jon Snow lowered his sword and turned to face them after hearing their footsteps pause behind him. He was breathing heavily and he wiped the sweat from his beard with his arm, each exhale emitting a cloud of white in the cold air.

 _Tihat mae lajat mae chifthik mahrazhi.  Fin jin ivezholat lajat, mae ajjin! [Look at him fight his straw men. Such a fierce warrior, he is!]_ ” Qhono taunted, laughing mockingly as his bloodriders grinned and jeered alongside him.

The _Ko_ of the Dragon spat on the ground bitterly before he gave the Northern King an unimpressed expression. He drew his arakh and pointed it towards the man, “ _Jin naqis mahrazh ajjin vo oakah tat ase sille tat yer, Khaleesi.  Fin kisha hash tat sillat mae oakah. Astat mae tat ittelat ma mae vov. [This small man is not fit to rule beside you, my Queen. We would test his skill to see his worth. Tell him to draw his blade.]”_

The Queen’s expression turned somber as she glanced down at her husband, “My captain would like to see your skill with the sword, my lord husband. Though I must warn you, it is rare for a man to face a Dothraki screamer with a naked blade and live to tell the tale.”

“I do not wish to shed blood for sport, Your Grace.” Jon Snow stated coldly without looking up at her, his glare centering on the Dothraki man who had taunted him.

She folded her arms and raised an eyebrow, “The Dothraki follow strength above all. Only the strongest Khal may lead them. If you wish for them to follow under your command, you would have to prove your worth to them. If you fail, my bloodriders will think you unfit to be my husband.”

There was an iciness between the King consort and Queen that Ser Barristan quickly picked up on. Though the pair had been known to trade barbs with each other in public every once in a while, there had always seemed to be an unspoken feeling of mutual affection between the two. The King in the North was rather protective of the Queen though he was never blatant about it, knowing that she had the capability to stand on her own. The Queen, as well, confided in her husband more often than her own advisors. Yet today, there was a palpable tension in the air between them.

 _Perhaps it has something to do with that girl who brought Cersei Lannister's head._ Ser Barristan thought recounting the events following the legitimization ceremony of the bastards.

But the Lord Commander had no time to dwell on his thoughts as he watched as the King in the North lifted his sword holding the hilt with both hands, a shadow of a snarl passing his face. The Dothraki men who stood behind Qhono whooped with glee at a chance to see a Westerosi man face one of their own in single combat.

Qhono smiled smugly in anticipation as Jon Snow stood across from him, his bastard sword at the ready.

“Take care you don’t murder the commander of my bloodriders, Jon Snow. I doubt I can protect you from the ten thousand warriors in my _khalasar_ if you do.” Dany called out.

Then addressing Qhono, she declared, “A _nha zigereo jin mahrazh thir, qoy anni qoy.  Anha tikh vo tikh layafat fin zhille azzisat jadat tat mae. [I need this man alive, blood of my blood. I will not be pleased if any serious harm comes to him.]_

“The first to draw blood is the victor. _Elat! [Begin!]_ ” The Queen commanded.

Qhono cried out as he leapt into the air bringing his curved blade down, Jon just as quickly evaded the attack, ducking his head before raising his sword to block the next swing.

The sound of metal clashing drew a few more onlookers as the King in the North dueled the Queen’s Dothraki commander.

Qhono’s attacks moved with lightning speed but the King was just as relentless, and he was quicker in his parries. Their duel continued towards the other end of the courtyard, a larger crowd gathering around them. The Dothraki riders ululated and goaded on their captain.

Ser Barristan and the Queen followed them closely as the fight got more heated. The knight could tell his Queen tried as much as possible to keep her face guarded and neutral, but the intensity in her amethyst eyes whenever the fight looked like it could turn in favor of one or the other gave her away. Her hand tightly wound around her dark grey cape, squeezing it with fervor as Qhono kicked the King in the chest, the Northerner falling backward onto a wooden crate which broke under his weight.

The Dothraki captain grinned as he picked up the King by grabbing a fistful of his dark curls and throwing him across the courtyard.

Jon Snow growled as he staggered back up on his feet, but as he blocked the next attack, Qhono yelled loudly and the sword sang as it flew out of Jon’s hand. Just when it seemed like the Dothraki man had him cornered, Jon gave a loud cry and tackled the Dothraki man to the ground. As Qhono's back landed hard on the dirt-covered stones, he brought his _arakh_ as close as he could to the King's face. Jon grunted as he held the Dothraki's hand in both of his, teeth gritting as the blade inched towards his neck.

There was a look of pure fire in the Northman's eyes as he pushed down hard against the hand holding the blade. The Dothraki man straining even more as he struggled to lift himself up, trying to push the blade closer to his opponent.

Jon cried out in rage as he violently slammed his head down on to the Dothraki's face, blood gushed from Qhono's broken nose, pouring over his mouth as he groaned in pain. It didn’t take long for the King to take advantage of this as he punched his adversary hard across the face. He struck him three more times, causing more blood to spill on the ground.

The hold on the curved blade loosened and Jon easily bent the man's wrists as he pulled the blade's hilt from his grasp. But moments before he could bring the _arakh_ down on the Dothraki on the ground, the Queen’s voice rang through the air.

“Enough!”

The sharp blade had stopped so close to the Dothraki captain's cheek that a bead of blood had dripped down his face from a small cut from its edge. Qhono's bloodied mouth grimacing as the King turned to look at his wife.

A still silence fell on the courtyard.

Just then, a flash of white came bounding towards the centre of the courtyard. The massive white direwolf faced the crowd of people who drew back in fear at the sight of its dark red eyes. It then came to Jon’s side, circling him before sniffing the blood on his hands. The King placed his hand atop the direwolf’s head, leaving a bloody handprint on the snow-white fur.

The King in the North rose to his feet, _arakh_ in hand as his opponent's blood dripped down his forehead. His chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. A brutal but controlled look in his eyes as he watched his Queen approach him. The direwolf by his side with the bloody handprint on its head only made it look even more intimidating.

As Ser Barristan regarded Jon Snow more carefully, his brows furrowed and his old eyes widened. A distant memory clawed its way to the forefront of his mind and his breath caught in his throat.

_I’ve seen that look before and the way he holds that blade. His coloring is all wrong… but in this light, he almost looks like…_

The knight didn’t even want to think about finishing his thought. It was impossible. How could it be?

As the Queen walked towards her husband, her long silver braid swung back and forth behind her back. She stopped before him and they shared a silent look between each other.

The King dropped the _arakh_ to the ground, metal clanging on the stone next to the Dothraki man’s feet.

Daenerys’ gaze remained fixed on him as she spoke to her Dothraki commander, “ _Akko_ , _Qoy anni qoy. [Rise, Blood of my blood.]”_

“ _Sek, Khaleesi.”_ Her _ko_ grunted, his hand on his bloodied jaw as he rose to his feet, staggering away from the direwolf.

She then turned her amethyst eyes to Qhono, “ _Me ajjin allayafi yer zhorre lei. [It seems you have lost.]”_

Qhono spat blood on the ground and he nodded as he repeated, “ _Sek, Khaleesi.”_

Picking up his _arakh_ from the ground, Qhono cut off a small piece of his own hair from the end of his braid. Though it had not been a battle, the Dothraki man lost all the same.

Bending his knee before the King, he offered his curved blade to him, the cut braid lying atop the metal, “ _Anna az ajjin ha yer assolat, jin Khal kijinosi Valshe. [My blade is yours to command, the King in the North.]”_

The other bloodriders who had come with Qhono were also on the ground on one knee.

Jon reached out and took the piece of hair offered on the weapon, gripping it in his bloody fist as he looked back at the Queen.

He nodded at Qhono who stood and bowed his head before calling on his bloodriders who all made respectful gestures to the King and Queen as they took their leave.

“You fought well, my lord husband.” The Queen said, a hint of admiration in her tone.

“Your Grace is fortunate to have the Dothraki on her side, their skill is beyond compare and the stories I have heard of them do not do them justice.” He stated, despite his flat response, there seemed to be a shimmer of emotion in his eyes. The direwolf had eased its aggressive stance as it gazed up at the Queen.

It looked like as though they both had more to say to each other, but the King in the North simply bowed his head to her as he moved to retrieve his sword from the ground.

Ser Barristan and his Queen watched as Jon Snow collected his cloak and sword belt, moving quickly as he walked back to Maegor's Holdfast. The direwolf followed silently at his heels.

The Queen's hands clenched into fists as she turned and approached her knight. She noticed that a peculiar look on his face remained as his eyes followed the Northerner.

“Are you well, Lord Commander? Surely you’ve seen far bloodier duels in your lifetime that would not warrant you looking as pale as death.” She commented.

The old knight shook his head, “Forgive me, Your Grace. It seemed as if I had wandered back to a time long past.”

“What time would that be, Ser Barristan?” She asked, though the diminished look in her eyes did not escape her knight’s notice.

“A time when I had the privilege of seeing your brother Rhaegar take down his own opponents in single combat.” The Lord Commander confessed.

“I’m sure seeing my brother with a sword would have been far more exciting.”

Ser Barristan knew to withhold the remark he had wanted to say and instead, he forced a smile, “Yes, indeed, Your Grace.”

“Come, Ser Barristan. I would walk through the city this day and I need you by my side.” The Queen said, her hands folded in front of her, “Perhaps you can regale me with another tale of the past. Of a time when my family were still looked upon with respect and awe. How quickly my people forget who the Targaryens were and what they brought to this country, help me remind them.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” He replied obediently.

Ser Barristan fell in step with the Queen, looking behind him, he signaled the Queensguard to follow. The sound of their metal greaves ringing as they walked behind their Queen.

When they had passed the courtyard and made their way down the staircase towards the front gates of the Red Keep, Ser Barristan started to tell his Queen of the time when he was a younger knight serving under King Jahaerys.

Despite her occasional severity, Ser Barristan knew how much Daenerys enjoyed his stories. It was possible they reminded her of the childhood she never had and the family she never knew.

While the knight patiently recounted his past with his Queen, his mind couldn’t help but linger on the King in the North and the vision he had seen. The resemblance was but a moment and yet somehow, the troublesome feeling at the pit of his stomach would not leave.

 _Best not to dwell on it,_ He thought. _Perhaps my age has finally caught up with me._

_Maybe I should tell the Queen to start considering possible candidates for a new Lord Commander._

_One of the Redwyne twins could be a possible contender… or the newly legitimized Karl Darry. Their houses have always been loyal and true to the Targaryens. I could also speak to my cousin Arthor, his youngest son is of age, I could convince him to have me train the boy to serve the Queen after me._

But as his old eyes fell on Daenerys who had a small smile on her lips as he spoke of her family, Ser Barristan felt a tug on his heart.

How could he ever leave her? She was the last of the dragons. This ethereal being with her silver curls and her amethyst gaze who can command both men and beasts with a single breath. He had watched her grow into the woman and Queen she now was but she was also like a daughter to him. He knew she would be just as strong without him, but who would Barristan Selmy be if he did not serve her till the end?

_But you are no god, Selmy, the Stranger will come for you sooner or later. Who are you to run from the fate the Seven have destined for you?_

Walking beside his Queen, the Lord Commander of the Queensguard kept these thoughts buried deep within him. It didn’t matter now what he thought. Daenerys Targaryen was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, he had seen his promise through, and he hoped that he had managed to somehow redeem himself in his own eyes.

Ser Barristan rested his hand on his sword as he continued to talk, the Queen listening to him patiently as they walked the streets of King’s Landing, the smallfolk bowing and curtseying to her as she passed.

_I may no longer be a young man, but I can still wield this sword and, gods be good, I will keep her safe until the end of my days._

He once believed that the Targaryens were all dead and gone. He had given up on them and turned to serve others in their place. Never again.

_Never again…_

* * *

SAM

“Right. Here we are, Maester. But I’ll go no further than the gates.” The farmer grunted as he pulled on the reigns of his two mares, halting the wagon that carried several bushes of hay and a weary Samwell Tarly in the back.

“I’m no Maester. Not yet at least.” Samwell corrected as he fumbled his way off the cart, a heavy brown leather bag in his arms, “I’ve only had a few links so far, but I suppose that I could be a Maester in less than a year if—”

But the farmer had already clicked his tongue and went on his way leaving Sam behind on the side of the cold, dusty road.

“Right.” Sam sighed dejectedly as he adjusted his thick dirt-stained beige robes and slowly turned to face the large gates of the Capital. It had been a week since the last snowfall, but mounds of muddy snow remained on the ground. He could see numerous scaffoldings surrounding the outer walls of the city.

Upon the wall closest to him, Sam saw twenty or so men hauling heavy stones using ropes and pulleys, other men were adding mortar in between and atop the stones already laid out on the wall.

It had been a long and arduous journey from Oldtown. Though it had taken him several weeks, Sam was relieved to have finally reached his destination. He followed the stream of people flowing into the city gates, everywhere he looked he saw large black banners with the red Targaryen sigil flying above roofs, stone walls and over several other edifices.

Groups of soldiers in silver cloaks patrolled the streets and stood guard atop the ramparts. He saw other soldiers as well, clad in black leather and carrying tall spears who either stood as still as statues along the main roads or who moved in rigorous formation across the city. Sam surmised that those must be the Queen’s Unsullied soldiers that she had taken with her from Astapor. He remembered recounting that news to Maester Aemon a long time ago.

Sam felt his heart sink a little as he thought of Maester Aemon and how he never had the chance to meet his great-niece or her dragons.

As if the heavens had heard his thoughts, a loud thunderous roar thundered from above and Sam gave a loud shriek, dropping his packsack as a massive creature flew above him.

_Seven Heavens! A bloody dragon! It’s a bloody dragon, gods have mercy!_

“You new here, Maester?” A small voice asked.

Sam blinked a few times and looked down to see a young boy struggling to pick up the leather bag he had just dropped.

“O-o-oh. My apologies. Here, l-let me take th-that.” Sam stammered, his gloved hands shaking as he bent down to take the heavy pack from the boy. But his eyes returned to the large black dragon that had flown high above the Red Keep in a distance.

“You must be new, looking like you ain’t never seen them dragons before and shouting like a girl.” The boy said with a toothy grin.

Sam struggled to move his eyes back down to the boy as he frowned, “A-a girl? Listen here, lad, I used to be a brother of the Night’s Watch and the-the things I’ve seen and done there were more—”

“Well, you scream like my sister when she sees a rat in her bed.” The boy interrupted shrugging his shoulders, “Anyway, I best be off. Have a good day, Maester.”

Before Sam could say another word, the boy scampered off behind him, disappearing behind one of the stalls on the streets.

_Why does everyone keep thinking I’m a Maester? I’m not even wearing a chain. Must be these bloody robes._

Sam heaved another heavy sigh, his heart still racing. As he adjusted his pack, he realized a certain something was missing from the side of his bag. His eyes widened and he cursed under his breath.

The young lad who had laughed at him for screaming had just stolen his money purse.

_Serves me right for tying it to my pack instead of keeping it inside. Gilly would probably lecture me about it to no end. Ah well, perhaps the Grand Maester would be kind enough to provide me with some coins for the journey back… Or maybe I’ll ask Jon, he is the King after all._

Sam gulped as he looked back towards the Red Keep, his brows bending with worry.

It had been over a year since he had last seen his friend. When Sam left the Wall with Gilly and little Sam, Jon had just become the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Then, a few months ago, Sam had heard that Jon had left the Wall and retaken Winterfell from the Boltons. Ravens sent to the Citadel announced that Jon was named the King in the North and the Vale and the Riverlands had declared their allegiances to him as well.

_But why would Jon forsake his vows? He never even wanted to be Lord Commander… why would he suddenly accept being named King?_

It didn’t sound anything like the Jon he knew. Even when Jon had gone beyond the Wall and travelled with the wildlings, he returned to Castle Black and fought hard to defend it. When Stannis Baratheon offered to legitimize Jon, he turned it down because he had just been elected Lord Commander. The Watch was everything to Jon, why would he suddenly leave it to fight for his home and become a King? Brothers of the Night’s Watch were duty-bound to hold no lands, wear no crowns and take no wives, and their vows were to serve until their death.

_Yet Jon is alive..._

Sam had a thousand questions in his mind, but as he pressed his lips together, he knew that the questions would have to wait. There was still an important task he needed to complete, one that had him begging the Archmaesters to grant him leave to travel to King’s Landing for.

His chin trembled slightly as he started to walk down the streets again and he swallowed the emotion that was creeping up his throat.

Taking a deep breath, he urged his legs to walk slightly faster as he made his way towards the red-bricked fortress on the other side of the city, pushing past the throngs of people in his path.

\----------

Dusk had just newly settled by the time Sam reached the Red Keep, and after making a few inquiries around the stronghold, he had finally learned the location of the Grand Maester’s quarters.

Sam’s bones ached with fatigue, his stomach churning loudly with hunger and his back was sore from the weight of his leather bag. Despite the cold dampness of the castle’s halls, large beads of sweat dripped down the side of Sam’s temples from the exertion of climbing up the long winding staircase that led to the Grand Maester’s room.

He swiped an arm across his forehead and after catching his breath, he rapped his knuckles on the door.

“Enter!” He heard a muffled voice call out.

Sam pushed the wooden door open and he found the Grand Maester Hivam at his desk, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment.

A faint smile crossed Sam’s lips as he remembered the first time he had entered the Citadel, the Grand Maester – who was only just an Archmaester at that time – had been doing the exact same thing when Sam arrived.

Clearing his throat, Sam said, “Seven blessings and a good evening to you, Grand Maester.”

Hearing the familiar voice caused the Grand Maester to lift up his head with a surprised frown, “Tarly? What are you doing in the Capitol? This is most irregular indeed. Why was I not informed of your coming?”

Sam closed the door gently behind him, the Grand Maester glaring at him as he approached his desk, “W-well, you see Grand Maester. I’m not exactly here on official Citadel business. It’s – erm – it’s for a more personal reason.”

The Grand Maester folded his arms, “And what exactly would that reason be?”

“Well, I— erm, it’s a really private matter. Unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to say…” Sam mumbled, his eye-catching the Maester’s plate of unfinished food, a loaf of brown bread was left untouched and seeing made Sam’s mouth water.

The Grand Maester’s frown only deepened and Sam continued, swallowing hard and forcing himself to focus on his words.

“I was hoping you could help me speak with the King… and Queen… preferably alone?”

The Grand Maester eyes bulged out at him and looked as if Sam had just sprouted wings and spewed fire from his mouth.

“Have you gone completely mad, Tarly?” The Grand Maester snapped, “The King and Queen have much better things to do than speak with a novice from the Citadel.”

“Well, I’m an acolyte now. If you remember, I’ve already earned a few links for my chain, Grand Maester.” Sam added with a weak smile, his stomach groaning.

The Grand Maester pushed his chair back and placed his palms on the desk, “I’m running out of time and patience and I have too much to do than sit here listening to your ramblings.”

“P-please, Grand Maester.” Sam begged, his voice turning serious and desperate as he took a step forward, “I wouldn’t have come all this way if it wasn’t important, and it is. I made a promise and I – I have every intention of seeing it through. One way or another, I will see the Queen… and the King… I’ve known Jon Snow since he was just a simple brother in black on the Wall. I know if you ask, he will see me, I’m sure of it.”

Peering at him through narrowed eyes, the Grand Maester contemplated the acolyte’s words. He gave a deep and exasperated sigh as he sank back down to his chair.

After rubbing his chin with his hand, he grunted in frustration, “I’ll see what I can do, Tarly. Though if you are granted an audience, I highly doubt it will be any time soon. A few days most likely.”

Sam exhaled with relief, “Oh, thank you, thank you Grand Maester. I will forever be in your debt and I sw—”

The Grand Maester waved his hand impatiently as he grumbled, his eyes turning back to his parchment, “Yes, yes. Now leave me, please.”

Sam bowed his head respectfully but his eyes wandered back to the loaf on the plate. The Grand Maester curious as to why his unwelcome guest still had not moved from his spot, looked up and followed his hungry gaze.

“Erm— Grand Maester? You wouldn’t mind, if I… if I…”

“Just take it and go, Tarly!” The Grand Maester roared.

Sam quickly grabbed the piece of bread and backed away bowing, thanking the Grand Maester profusely before he scurried out of the Grand Maester’s quarters as fast as he could.

He took a large bite of the bread as he made his way back down the staircase, though it was cold and hard, it was the first solid food he had since the day before. He struggled to swallow the coarse piece but was thankful nonetheless for it. As he took another bite, he emerged from the stairs into another long hallway. Chewing thoughtfully, he planned his next steps as he wandered around.

_Hmm… better find a bed for the night. Perhaps there’s an inn nearby that I could visit. Oh gods, but I’ve forgotten that I just lost all my money. Where can I possibly go now? Perhaps I can sneak into the stables, find a comfortable stack of hay and—_

“Samwell Tarly?”

Sam stopped and grimaced at the call of his name and he turned.

His heart almost gave out with relief when he found Ser Davos with a few men dressed in Stark armor standing behind him. The old knight was dressed simply in a black tunic with a long olive green vest draped over it and Sam noticed his beard was a lot grayer than it was when he last saw him.

“Ser Davos Seaworth.” Sam answered with a faltering smile.

The Onion Knight passed the large book he was carrying to the soldier next to him as he walked to Sam, “Last I saw you, you and the wildling girl with the babe were preparing to leave Castle Black to go south… to Oldtown, if my memory serves me right?”

“Aye. We did.”

“You a Maester now?” Ser Davos asked, observing Sam's garb.

“No, not yet.” Sam answered, “Just an acolyte. I’ve yet to swear my vows and earn my chain.”

Ser Davos nodded, “I see. So what brings you to King's Landing? Though I believe I can very well guess the reason. Seeing as you’ve just descended from those steps tells me you were here to see the Grand Maester.”

“I did see the Grand Maester but… he was not the true reason for my being here.” Sam began, then his eyes brightened up, “Ser Davos, I really need to speak with Jon—er, I mean, the King… the King in the North. Do you think you can help me? It is terribly urgent and… I need to see the Queen as well. I have an important letter for her from the Citadel that I promised I’d deliver personally. Please.”

Ser Davos' forehead wrinkled with concern, “The King and Queen are taking their supper with some members of their Small Council tonight. Gods know when they’ll return to their quarters. The last Small Council meeting they had, I don’t even believe they went to their rooms until the break of dawn.”

Sam sighed and with the same desperation he had used with the Grand Maester, he stated, “Ser Davos, I know this might be a lot to ask. We only met briefly a long time ago and I know that there is no reason for you to trust anything I say, but please, I have some information that might help with the war against the Others that Jon really needs to know about.”

At the mention of the Others, Ser Davos’ expression shifted, “The Others? Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Come with me.”

The Onion Knight started walking briskly down the hallway followed by his guards, Sam was almost too stunned by his reaction to speak, mumbling incoherently before he jogged to catch up with Ser Davos.

His head was spinning slightly from the lack of adequate food and exhaustion and he was breathing heavily as he walked alongside the Onion Knight. The cold bread helped to quiet his stomach, but it didn’t stave off his hunger. He was also desperate for a bed and a warm hearth.

“You feeling all right, Tarly?” Ser Davos asked with concern as he stopped walking.

Sam tried to smile again but this time only managed to grimace as his face reddened, “Erm – well, I’ve only just arrived earlier today and haven’t really had a chance to find an inn to –”

It seemed Ser Davos immediately understood what Sam was struggling to say and he gestured to one of the guards, “You can stay in my quarters for now, I’ll have some food and drink brought up to you. Rest a while by the fire and I’ll come to you after I speak with the King.”

Sam gave an audible sigh of gratitude, “Gods. Thank you, thank you, Ser Davos.”

Sam wanted to convey even more words to thank Ser Davos but he was quickly ushered away by the Stark guard.

With his weariness and hungry almost completely taking over him, he said nothing and followed the soldier in silence as he was led down another set of stairs. They descended two more floors and then walked the length of another long hallway until they came to a door at the very end.

The guard opened the door, and stepped aside, allowing Sam to go through.

“Thank you kindly.” Sam said as the guard nodded to him and closed the door.

As Sam looked around the room, he felt like he could almost burst into tears. It was warm, the fire was still burning in the hearth. The room was small for a royal apartment but was three times larger than Sam’s cell in the Citadel. There was a bed in the corner, a writing desk littered with quills, scrolls and books, and a small table situated between two chairs in front of the fire.

Sam dropped his heavy bag with a loud _thunk_ unto the floor as he nearly crawled towards one of the chairs. He sank on to one and heard it creak under his weight.

Sitting by the fireside did much to ease the cold and fatigue from his sore body and it didn’t take long before Samwell Tarly was fast asleep, his head sinking into his chest as his loud snores echoed throughout the room.

\---------

“Tarly! Tarly! Wake up!”

Sam snorted as he jerked awake, someone had been shaking his shoulder roughly.

“Finally. Been trying to wake you for some time now.” Ser Davos said as Sam straightened up in his seat and wiped the sleep from his eyes.

The smell of roast venison roused him far quicker than Ser Davos did as Sam opened his eyes wider to find a small feast sitting on the table in front of him. It didn’t take him too long to shovel the cut of meat, the peas and carrots, and slurp down the bowl of hot porridge into his mouth without stopping to take a breath. It was only when he had gulped down two full cups of ale that he finally gave a full and contented sigh.

The Onion Knight was sitting on the chair across the table observing Sam with a bewildered look on his face.

A deep belch escaped Sam’s lips and he covered his mouth apologetically with his arm, “Oh. Pardon me.”

Ser Davos’ grey whiskers twitched, “Right. Well, now that I believe you’ve been given your fill of rest and a good meal, I have some news for you.”

Sam’s eyes turned from relaxed bliss into apprehension as his breath hitched in his throat.

But the knight gave him a look of encouragement, “The King would like to see you as soon as possible. Though he didn’t seem too keen when I mentioned you had requested the Queen’s presence as well. However, he assured me they will both be there to receive you in his solar tonight.”

“Tonight?” Sam asked.

“Aye. When you feel you’re ready, I can take you to them.”

Sam immediately stood on his feet, “I’m ready now.”

Ser Davos looked up at him with surprise, “Are you certain?”

Sam clenched his gloved hands and nodded with stern determination, “I have to.”

Ser Davos exhaled and stood as well, “Then we haven’t a moment to waste. The King and Queen await you, Samwell Tarly.”

As Sam nodded again, he felt a knot in his stomach, and he wasn’t sure if it was due to the porridge he had so hurriedly gobbled down or the fact that he was about to stand before Jon and the Dragon Queen.

Sam went to retrieve the heavy leather bag he had dropped by the door and held it close to his chest, the purpose for its contents soon to be fulfilled having carried it all the way from Oldtown.

He followed after Ser Davos, the stone corridors were far more silent now than they were when Sam had arrived and the clicking of their boots echoed as they made their way down the hallway. Small torches on the walls provided adequate lighting as they walked down to the King’s bedchambers.

Sam wasn’t sure what was making him so nervous. Jon was still his friend after all, wasn’t he?

Yet the churning of his stomach continued.

 _Maybe I should have taken my time eating all that food,_ Sam thought morosely.

Before they could reach a set of double doors located at the end of the hallway, two Unsullied guards blocked their path but they parted immediately to let Ser Davos and Sam through. As they stood outside the door, Ser Davos turned to him.

“Let me announce you first.” Ser Davos whispered to him, “Also, the King wanted me to let you know that he has not yet told the Queen of the threats that lie beyond the Wall, so I suggest you keep that information to yourself for now.”

Sam gave him a concerned gaze, “But I need to tell Jon about—”

“Listen to me.” Ser Davos sighed, “There’s been some tension between the King and Queen these past few days, and believe me, they are not a pair to be crossed.”

Seeing Sam’s look of worry deepen, Ser Davos added in a foreboding tone, “I would also ask you to be mindful of what you say to the King. He’s… He’s not the same man that you knew back at the Wall. A lot has happened since you last saw him. I’m sure if he so chooses, the King will explain everything to you. But till then… “

Sam felt the apprehension in his gut worsen as he swallowed hard and finally nodded.

Satisfied, Ser Davos knocked on the door and then after a pause, he opened the door just wide enough for him to enter. As he slipped through, he shut the door behind him.

The seconds that he spent waiting seemed to crawl by as Sam stared hard at the white direwolf emblem at the centre of the two doors. He pondered on Ser Davos’ words.

_He’s not the same man that you knew…_

_What could have possibly changed since then?_

But before Sam could dwell on it any further, Ser Davos reemerged.

“They will see you now.”

Sam took a breath as Ser Davos swung the door wider to allow him to pass him.

“Good luck, Tarly.”

With those words, Ser Davos left him standing a few steps from the doorway, shutting the door quietly.

Sam found himself a large, spacious chamber. A few upholstered seats next to chaise lounges were placed around the room. There was a long writing desk situated by the large lattice window. Stone pillars etched with various designs were at each corner. In front of the massive hearth was a table surrounded by four wooden chairs, upon which was a bowl of fruit and a plate of cheese. A jug of wine surrounded by five goblets was on the table as well.

Looking out the open window on the other side of the room was the King, still dressed in his royal finery. A silken tunic underneath a leather vest that had silver buckles worn over leather breeches and black boots. The Queen was sitting rigid and straight on one of the upholstered armchairs that faced the doors. Her rust-red gown covered her feet and her silver hair was braided to one side. Sitting by the Queen was a familiar creature with snow-white fur whose tail was wagging as soon as Sam came into the room.

_Ghost…_

The direwolf quickly made his way towards Sam and jumped up placing his paws on Sam's shoulders as the direwolf lapped his face, nearly toppling him back

“I’m happy to see you too.” Sam chuckled as Ghost dropped back down. Sam then noticed the Queen intently watching him.

He could feel his heart beating loudly in his chest as the Queen’s amethyst eyes looked him once over.

He remembered Maester Aemon speaking of the unique Valyrian beauty that all Targaryens bore but seeing the young Queen in front of him, Sam thought that there were no words from the old Maester or any book in the Citadel that would have done her any justice.

Ser Davos had been right when he mentioned a tension between the King and Queen. Entering into the room, Sam could immediately sense the heaviness in it, as if he had just walked right into the middle of a heated argument.

At the sound of his voice, Jon turned to look at him.

There were some new scars on his face that Sam had not seen before, but otherwise, the grey eyes that lit up when they met his own were very much those of the friend he remembered.

“Sam.”

Jon rushed forward and embraced him tightly. Sam would have hugged him back if it weren’t for the weighted pack in his arms. But he closed his eyes and fought back the tears that threatened to fall and the emotion that gathered in his throat.

It had been too long.

Jon pulled back and they both looked upon each other, Jon’s hands were on his shoulders and for a moment, as he smiled at him, memories of their time at the Wall came back to Sam.

_Laughing with Edd, Grenn and Pyp in the common hall…_

_Saying_ _their vows in front of the weirwood tree…_

 _Chopping_ _onions and carrots in the kitchens…_

_Walking the top of the Wall with Ghost by their side…_

_Listening_ _to Maester Aemon as he recounted to them a story or two from his past…_

“Jon.” Sam responded shakily, and then remembering where he was and who he was speaking to, he staggered to his knees, “I-I mean, my King.”

“Get up, Sam.” Jon said in a light tone, “You need not kneel before me here.”

“That may be true, but I am also kneeling to the Queen.” Sam stated, turning his attention to the Targaryen Queen sitting behind Jon. Ghost had circled back and was now laying quietly by the side of the fire, his head on his paws.

The Queen had a hint of a smile on her lips as she extended her hand to him, “At least one of us here remembers his manners. The Crown welcomes you to King's Landing, Samwell Tarly.”

Sam rose to his feet, lumbering forward awkwardly before he took her delicate hand in his, leaving a brief kiss on her fingers.

He stepped back and shrugged with a blush, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“From the little my husband has told me about his past, he speaks of you with great fondness. I heard you were with my great grand-uncle Aemon when he died?” The Queen asked.

Sam nodded, “I was, Your Grace. The wisest and kindest man I’ve ever known.”

A sad look flickered in her eyes, “I wish I would have known him. It seems all my kin, apart from my brother Viserys, have come and gone in this world without me meeting them.”

“Maester Aemon spoke quite highly of you, Your Grace. When ravens brought news from Essos, I would read some of it to him. He wanted nothing more than to be by Your Grace’s side. If it weren’t for his age and his blindness, and of course his vows, he would have been on the first ship to Meereen to be with you and your dragons.” Sam continued.

Then Sam turned to Jon, “But I’m sure Jon’s told you all about that, he’s read some letters to Maester Aemon as well.”

A guilty look crossed Jon’s face as he looked away and Sam saw the Queen’s jaw tense.

Sam quickly realized he might have made his first blunder, and added, “But Maester Aemon cared a lot for you, Your Grace, very much so. Didn’t he, Jon?”

“Aye, he did.” Jon answered, raising his eyes to the Queen but she kept her gaze on Sam.

“Ser Davos said that your request to meet with us was of an urgent matter.” The Queen said, shifting the topic of conversation.

“It is.” Sam said, then he felt Jon place a hand on his shoulder.

“If you would rather you and I speak alone…” Jon started to say in a low voice.

But Sam shook his head, “Forgive me. I… I do have some things that I need to discuss with you, Jon. But the real reason for my being here is for the Queen.”

Jon looked at him in surprise as the Queen tilted her head in curiosity.

Sam laid his leather bag on the floor, and from inside, he pulled out a letter tied with string and a metal chest plate that bore the insignia of a bear standing upright.

The moment she beheld the items that Sam was holding out to her, a flash of recognition and pain registered in the Queen's eyes.

“I had these washed with vinegar and boiled wine, so… it’s safe and I transcribed the letter myself. He could only write his name.”

Sam’s gloved hands shook as he approached her, tears stinging his eyes.

The Queen took the items from him, laying it on her lap and running her fingers over the sigil on the metal armor. The letter had a bulge in it and as she untied the string of the letter, a metal ring clattered onto the chest plate as it fell out.

She picked up the ring to look at it more closely. Then holding it tightly in one hand, she started to unfold the letter, her eyes slowly reading the inked words on the page.

Though she had not yet shed any tears, Sam was fighting back his as he sniffed and rubbed his arm across his face.

When she had finished reading, she lowered her hands and closed her eyes.

“Tell me what happened. Tell me everything.” She said as she opened her eyes again, looking up at Sam.

Sam asked in a low voice, “May I sit, Your Grace?”

The Queen gave him a small nod.

As Sam moved to the seat across from her, Jon went to his wife, resting a hand on the chair’s top rail as he stood behind it.

“Ser Jorah came to the Citadel a few months ago. But the greyscale had spread so far across his body, by the time he arrived, only his face was left untouched by the disease. The Maesters tried everything they could think of, herb poultices, smoking potions, even pouring scalding water and Myrish fire over him but nothing worked.”

Sam stopped to take a steadying breath, “I thought I could help. I-I tried, Your Grace, really, I did. Ser Jorah was willing to do anything; he didn’t want to die as a stone man. When the Archmaesters had given up trying for a cure and were about to send him off to the ruins of Valyria, his last request was for a vial of tears of Lys. So, I asked if, with Ser Jorah’s consent, I could try a procedure on him that I had found in an old book.”

“They said it was too dangerous, that the procedure would kill him, but once Ser Jorah heard of it, he wouldn’t stop insisting on it. He would yell and scream, he wouldn’t eat or sleep. They had thought the madness was already starting to take hold of him. After a while, they finally gave me permission. The procedure lasted several days. Most of the greyscale had been removed but he had lost too much blood. Still, he was so strong, Your Grace, the Maesters were amazed he had held on for as long as he did. Ser Jorah lived a few more days after that… and…”

Before Sam could continue, he removed the glove from his left hand. His thumb was missing and so were the tips of his middle and index fingers. Memories of his last moments with Ser Jorah causing tears to roll down his cheeks.

“On his last day, he asked me for a final favor, that when Daenerys Targaryen would return to Westeros to reclaim her throne, I would give her his last few possessions along with his letter that contained his final words for her. He made me promise that I would deliver them to you personally. Before he past, I held his hand… just so he knew someone was there with him at the end.”

The Queen’s amethyst eyes held back unshed tears as she listened to him.

There was a long, solemn silence that followed. The cackling of the fire in the hearth providing the only sound in the room.

“Thank you.” The Queen finally said her eyes downcast, a small tremble in her voice, “For all you’ve done and for coming all this way. Should there be anything you need, anything at all…”

“Your Grace. Please. This was my fault. He should be here talking to you right now, not me.” Sam said, more tears falling over his cheeks, “I should be the one asking you if there is anything _I_ can do for you.”  

“No.” She responded softly, her eyes glazed over. Then she slowly stood up, holding the chest plate in one hand, the letter and the ring in the other. Her expression was unreadable as she started towards the door.

Sam got to his feet as well, “Your Grace?”

Jon quickly followed after his wife. When she reached the door, Sam noticed Jon speaking to her in a low voice, his hand on the door. She looked up to glare at him responding back in an angry whisper before she pulled open the door and walked out.

“Ghost.” Jon called quietly and the direwolf immediately rose from his place by the fire. Sam watched as Ghost slipped out, following after the Queen.

Sam heard Jon exhale deeply as he shut the door.

“You must forgive the Queen,” Jon started, “She and I, we—”

“There’s no need to say anything, Jon.” Sam interrupted, “Really, it’s fine.”

Jon gave a short nod as he released his hand from the door.

“You should probably go be with her,” Sam suggested as he pulled the glove back over his thumbless left hand, “We can always talk another time, perhaps tomorrow if you like.”

Jon walked to his desk and took a seat, rubbing his temple, “I am the last person in the world that she would want to see right now.”

Sam gave a wet chuckle and Jon frowned, “Do you find all this amusing to you, Sam?”

“Not really, no, but… it’s strange, being here and finding you a married man… to a Queen of all people. A Targaryen Queen… with dragons.” Sam answered as he sniffed and dried his cheeks with his sleeve, “If someone had told me all this a year ago, I would have laughed at them in the face.”

But Jon didn’t smile, instead he leaned forward with his elbows on the table, resting his forehead against his hands.

“I probably would have done the same, though if I had known all this a year ago…” He let his voice trail off.

Sam went to pick up his leather bag from where he had left it and brought it over to Jon's desk.

“When I left you were still the Lord Commander. Fighting wildlings and White Walkers. Bending the knee to Stannis. Now it’s… it’s all changed. Stannis is dead... and you... you’re the King now. Does this mean you’ve given up the war against the Others?”

At this, Jon looked up from his hands with a glare, “No, of course not. What’s coming for us, for all of us, is the only reason why I’m here. It’s why I accepted the crown, why I rode south… why I married her. Everything I’ve done since I’ve left the Wall has been for this war, to prepare for it when it finally comes.”

“So why did you leave? If the Great War has been all that’s mattered, why are you here instead of up there commanding our brothers?” Sam asked, surprised at the intensity of his own words.

Jon sighed as he leaned back in his chair, “Sam...You don’t know what’s happened.”

“No…” Sam responded as he took a seat on the opposite side of Jon's desk, “I’ve made a few guesses but I doubt any of them are right.”

Jon’s watched his friend carefully for a long moment, contemplating his next words.

Then he said, “They murdered me, Sam. Our own brothers. Ser Allister. Bowen March, Othell Yarwyck... Olly... They ambushed me in the courtyard and left me there to bleed to death.”

A dark look entered Jon’s eyes. Sam shook his head with a smile of disbelief.

“No... no, they wouldn’t. Not... Not Olly...”

But when Jon’s expression remained unchanged, Sam shook his head again, a feeling of dread stirred within him.

_No..._

_“_ After you left, I spoke with the Free Folk... the wildlings. I found out there were survivors of Mance Raydar's army who had fled to Hardhome. I had a choice, leave them to be part of the army of the dead or the army of the living, and I had no intention of helping the dead any more than you do.” Jon said, his voice growing more hoarse, “So I took Tormund Gianstbane and a few other Free Folk leaders to Hardhome. There were fifty thousand of them there. We came back with five thousand.”

Sam swallowed the bile that was building up in his throat, “Did the... Did the Others...”

But Sam knew the answer already.

“Getting them south of the Wall was the only way to save them. So I did. And I got murdered for it.”

 “B-but... b-but...you’re... alive?”

“It was the Lady Melisandre who called upon her red god to bring me back. Don’t ask me why or how, no one’s ever explained it to me and I have long stopped searching for answers since I left Castle Black. I gave my life to the Watch, Sam and my Watch ended when they stuck their knives into me. Olly stabbed me in the heart.” Jon continued with gritted teeth, his right hand flexing and clenching into a fist on his table.

“What did you do to them... to Olly? When you came back?” Sam dared to asked.

There was a moment of silence as a dark shadow crossed Jon’s face. Sam felt the hairs rise on his arms and at the back of his neck. There was a chill from the open window that blew in and the flames from the candles on the table danced in it.

“The same thing I do to all deserters, traitors and murderers. I took their heads.”

Sam’s eyes widened. He had said it so casually, it seemed as if he was talking about the weather or what they had for supper.

“Olly’s was the first one on the block. After I beheaded them, I threw their bodies over the Wall. I made sure to take their hands as well. Should the Walkers want to use their corpses for their army, at least we wouldn’t have to worry about them carrying any weapons.”

Sam was certain Jon didn’t mean the last part as a jest. The coldness in his grey eyes said as much.

_This is what Ser Davos meant._

The look in Jon’s eyes and the sound of his voice changed drastically the moment he spoke about what happened to him at the Wall.

Jon regarded Sam’s silence and he asked, “Are you afraid of me, Sam? Now that you know?”

Sam shook his head but he knew that his pallor gave him away.

Jon pushed his chair and he walked back to the open window, bowing his head as he rested his hands on the sill.

“I won’t blame you if you do.”

Sam could almost hear the old Jon in that sentence.

“I don’t understand it... any of it. But it doesn’t change the fact that you are still here... you are still Jon Snow. The same Jon Snow who became my friend... who used to be my Lord Commander... and is now my King.” Sam said with a faint smile.

Jon hardened his jaw, “I am not that man, Sam, not anymore. I can’t even remember who that person is on most days. All I can see in my mind is darkness… fire… and cold blue eyes.”

Deciding that he needed to do more to lift Jon's spirits, Sam hurried over to the bag he laid on Jon's desk and started to pull out varying sizes of books.

Jon turned and watched as Sam stacked one book on top of another.

“What’s all this?”

Sam answered with firm determination, “I can’t do anything about the darkness and the fire but maybe I can help with the blue eyes bit.”

Sam took one of the books and pushed it towards Jon, “I had to sneak some of these books out of the Citadel's library but I thought, well, since you’re King and all, you might pardon me for doing so.”

Jon picked up the book and looked at it with a furrowed brow, “Legends of the Long Night?”

“I know what you must be thinking. These are just stories… tales to scare little children. But I’ve found it quite compelling, these old myths and legends. I’ve marked the places I thought might be useful to you.”

Jon noticed certain pages had been marked with a piece of string tucked in the creases.

“That was Gilly's idea actually.” Sam said with a small smile.

“Is she and little Sam well?” Jon asked as he opened the book to a marked page.

“Aye. She’s found work watching other women's babes and helping the midwives in the town. I try and see them every chance I get but it’s been… difficult.” Sam responded as he opened another one of the books, flipping through the pages.

Jon laid the book open on his desk and traced his hand across the page.

“The last hero.” Jon murmured, “I think I’ve heard this story before.”

“All over the world, there exists all these prophecies of the one, chosen hero. He's called many names in the East and in the West. Hyrkoon the Hero, Yin Tar, Neferion… _Azor Ahai._ The Last Hero. The Prince that was Promised. The One who Brings the Dawn.” Sam explained, “I think they might be all the same person.. or maybe they’re different people who might come together when the Long Night comes.”

“The red priests and priestesses think Daenerys to be their god's chosen one.” Jon stated as he closed the book.

“She could be.” Sam said, “Wouldn’t be surprised. After all, she’s the Mother of Dragons, isn’t she? Her dragons breathe fire. Fire kills the dead… maybe dragonfire is what we need to defeat the Others.”

“You’ve killed one with dragonglass before. At Hardhome, I killed another with Longclaw.” Jon remarked as he looked up at Sam, “Is there any way to know if dragonfire can kill them too?”

Sam tapped the book he was holding and read out loud, “Dragonglass, otherwise known as obsidian, were used by the children of the forest to make their weapons. It is said that the Valyrians of old made use of this glass as well, utilizing its magical properties to see visions of the future. Though most would surmise that dragonglass is a product of molten earth, many still believe that dragons had a part in creating them.”

Sam closed the book and said thoughtfully, “Longclaw is a Valyrian steel sword. They say that Valyrian steel was forged using dragonfire and ancient spells in Old Valyria. If dragonfire was used to create both these weapons, maybe it’s another thing that could kill the Others too.”

“All this... they’re all just stories, Sam.” Jon said with an exasperated sigh as he shoved the books aside.

Sam creased his forehead, “Well, stories might be all we have, Jon! The Others haven’t been seen in thousands of years and now they’re back. Dragons have been gone for over a hundred years and now they’re back. It can’t be all a coincidence, can it?”

Sam sighed, then knowing he might regret doing it, he ventured to ask, “Why haven’t you told her?”

Jon didn’t answer, which Sam expected as much, as he watched Jon pace in front of the hearth.

“She has armies and dragons and the support of half the country. We need her help if we want to win this war!”

“Don’t you think I know all that?” Jon growled at him, a fierce look in his eyes.

Sam was taken aback at the harsh retort but didn’t back down just yet.

“Then why haven’t you?” Sam repeated more slowly.

Jon ran his hand through his hair, breathing hard.

“I promised myself I would tell her… when the time was right. When she would be ready to hear it.” Jon responded.

It took a while but understanding finally dawned on Sam as he walked towards Jon. A long silence grew between them. Sam took a breath and finally broke it,

“Are you sure it’s her that needs to be ready?”

Jon shut his eyes as he turned away from Sam.

“I may not know a lot about marriage,” Sam began, “But I know a bit about love. At least, I’d like to think I do.”

At the mention of the word love, Jon’s muscles tensed.

His eyes downcast, Sam continued, “I know when I take my vows as a Maester… Gilly and I… we could never marry. But despite that, nothing in the world could ever make me leave her or little Sam. Even thinking about it breaks my heart.”

Then he looked up at his friend, “Do you love her, Jon? The Queen, I mean. Is that why you don’t want to leave her to go North? Why you can’t bring yourself to tell her?”

“She’s my wife.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.” Sam countered bluntly.

“What else can I say? I’ve only just married her. Half the time I expect her to have me burned alive. The other half I think that she...” Jon stopped abruptly before grumbling, “I’m not a bleeding poet.”

“I know. You’ve said that to me before.” Sam responded with a faint smile, remembering how awkward Jon was when he tried to explain what his first time with a woman was like.

“Have I?” Jon asked.

Sam’s smile faded as he looked at him curiously, “When we were on the Wall before the attack on Castle Black. Don’t you remember?”

Jon shook his head as he looked down at his palms, Sam noticed there were white bindings around them.

“Ever since I was brought back, there have been … pieces missing. I can’t remember much but I do remember a time when I had friends, family, a purpose. ‘Even a bastard on the Wall can make something of himself.’ Must have been my Uncle who told me that. But what do I have to show for it all now? Nothing. Most of my family are dead and gone. I have a sister I can’t trust and a brother I can’t reach. And my other sister…”

Jon’s face contorted with pain, “I’ve been abandoned, betrayed, feared… I can’t even rely on my own mind or what’s left of it. I’m coming undone, Sam. It only gets worse each day. Until there’ll be nothing of me left… until I have nothing left.”

Jon grew silent as he dropped his hands.

Sam gave a deep sigh, feeling unbearably weary. Their conversation weighing heavily in his mind. He could tell Jon probably felt the same.

Sam stood from the chair and from his bag, he retrieved one last book. This one was a lot smaller and was stuffed with crumpled and folded parchment. He grabbed the sling of his bag as he walked back and held it out to Jon.

“What's this?” Jon asked as he took the small book from him.

“When we were at Castle Black, Stannis and Ser Davos told me that we could find dragonglass on Dragonstone but never told me where. Luckily, I found this. There’s a map of Dragonstone in here with all the dragonglass caves marked. Perhaps you and the Queen can plan a trip there, it is her island after all, and we need all the dragonglass we can get. There is also something more in those caves than just the dragonglass.” Sam explained.

“What else is in there?”

“Something that might help convince the Queen.” Sam answered simply, “What I just gave you is the diary of a septon who was obsessed with obsidian. He lived on Dragonstone for a time during the reign of King Jaeherys II and the Mad King. The Maesters refer to it every now and again for historical purposes. But just be aware that Septon Delios tends to be…erm… overly descriptive with his daily… movements. Otherwise, you might find it all quite insightful.”

Jon nodded, “Thank you, Sam.”

“I should probably go.” Sam said, as he slung the now-empty bag over his shoulder.

“How long will you be here at King’s Landing?”

Sam shrugged, “I’ll probably stay for another day or two, at the most. If I stay any longer, the Grand Maester will have a lot to say about it and I don’t want to be in more trouble than I already am.”

“I can speak to him and ask the Citadel to grant you leave to stay here for longer if you wish.” Jon offered.

But Sam shook his head, “Don’t. I would be more useful to you and to everyone once I become a Maester. I haven’t read all the books in the library yet either. Gods know, I might be able to find something else that will help us in the War. There’s also Gilly and Little Sam, I don’t want to be apart from them longer than I need to be.”

Sam bowed to him respectfully and was just about to make his way to the door, when he stopped and turned to the King.

“Jon… You told me once that if there was any chance of us winning against the Others, it'll only happen if we fight together. It’s not my place to tell you what to do but I know that we need the Queen on our side. _You_ need her, in more ways than one and… she needs you too. Especially now. We all do. You say you’re coming undone and I don’t doubt that. After everything you’ve been through, I would probably feel the same.”

Sam took a moment to collect his thoughts, and he gave Jon a look of sincere conviction, “But you’re not alone, and despite what you said, I don’t believe you are nothing or have nothing. You have me, Ser Davos, Ghost… the Seven Bloody Kingdoms… and you have _her_. I don’t know a single thing about her but I know Ser Jorah believed in her, Maester Aemon as well.”

“But what if it’s me she doesn’t believe in?” Jon asked, his steel-grey eyes reflecting the red glow of the fire, “She could think that I’ve only been using her all this time for my own gain. It could all come to ruin, just like everything else.”

“Well, you’re still alive.  That must count for something if half the time you think she’s going to kill you.” Sam responded with a weak smile, “There’s still that other half, Jon, and you don’t have to be a bleeding poet to see that.”

Jon’s gaze softened as Sam pulled open the door.

“Good night, my King.”

Jon turned to face the fire once more, “Good night, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes lingered on his friend for a brief moment, watching him brood over the fireplace. Sam had gotten used to seeing Jon stare off sullenly into the distance, he did it so often when they were at Castle Black. But this new Jon… after all the horrors that he had gone through, it was as if a constant shadow followed after him, Sam could see it wash over his figure despite the warm glow emitted by the fire.

Sam then turned away as exited the room and finally shut the door behind him.

He gave out a breath of exhaustion as he stood outside Jon’s chambers. The hallway was empty now as Sam made his way back to Ser Davos' quarters. He tried to quiet the buzzing in his mind, all his energy sapped from him.

When he finally reached the door to the Onion Knight’s room, he quietly rapped on the wooden frame. After waiting a few moments with no answer, Sam turned the handle and peeked inside. The room was empty but there were new logs burning in the fireplace.

He walked inside and closed the door, wondering if Ser Davos would mind that he was in his room once more. Looking at the bed, Sam gave a soft whimper. He wasn’t too keen on sleeping on a chair again.

_I should probably wait for Ser Davos to return… But that bed does look a lot more comfortable to sit on than the chair._

Before he could stop himself, Sam sauntered towards the bed and as he sat on the sheets, feeling the soft mattress underneath him, his heavy eyes closed, his head drooped backwards, and he collapsed unto it.

As he fell into a deep slumber, he dreamt of Ser Jorah lying on a thin cot, his body covered in hideous molten-black and grey scales, his garbled voice crying out Daenerys' name. He also dreamt of Maester Aemon sitting beside him, his blind eyes unblinking as he too whispered Daenerys' name… and then finally Sam dreamt of Jon with a crown of ice on his head, but his face was covered in dark red blood. A wolf howled through a stormy blizzard and a black dragon soared above his head.

* * *

JON

Dawn had just broken when Jon left his quarters. As he made his way to the Queen’s chambers, he had to pause several times to steel himself but the words that Sam had spoken to him kept his resolve.

After knocking several times, he opened the door and found her chamber was empty.

Jon walked down to the dining hall where he and the Queen usually broke their fast with their advisors or members of the Small Council. He found Ser Davos and to his surprise, Ghost, at the table.

“Has the Queen had her morning meal already? I left Ghost with her last night.” Jon asked after exchanging greetings with the Onion Knight.

“I don’t know, Your Grace. I found this one outside prowling around the Red Keep when I was out for my morning stroll.” Ser Davos explained, while Ghost lay on his paws underneath the table.

Jon frowned, “What of Sam? Have you seen him?”

Ser Davos gave him a lopsided grin, “Still asleep in my quarters, Your Grace. I decided to spend the night walking the battlements. There are some very entertaining conversations you can have with the silver cloaks who patrol them.”

“You needn’t have done so, Ser Davos. There are numerous chambers in Maegor’s Holdfast that you know have no occupants. You could have easily taken any of those.” Jon stated.

But the old knight chuckled as he took a sip from his cup, “Sleep has always been hard to come by these last few years. Besides, it’s been a long time since I’ve watched the sun rise. It’s a beautiful thing. Perhaps you and the Queen might like to do so, one day.”

Despite the lighthearted jest, Jon only hummed under his breath.

_There is only one place she would go to seek comfort…._

Ghost lifted his head up as Jon walked away from the table.

“Ghost, stay.” Jon commanded softly as he stopped and turned his head slightly, knowing the direwolf would have followed after him.

Ghost obediently lay his head back down and the Onion Knight’s eyes looked at the King curiously.

“Is everything all right, Your Grace?”

“I have to find the Queen.” Jon answered simply as he left the room. His boots treading heavily on the stone floor.

~ ~ ~ ~

DAENERYS

She lay back against Drogon’s warm side, feeling the heat emanating from his scales surround her as she closed her eyes. Viserion's snout was just a few feet away from her as the gold and cream dragon lifted his head to shake it as he opened his jaws wide in a toothy yawn. Rhaegal was curled up in the sand, his dark emerald wings wrapped around him.

Ser Jorah's chest plate and ring lay on the ground beside her. She opened her eyes and reread the letter in her hand.

_Khaleesi,_

_I came to the Citadel in the last hope that the Maesters could treat me so I could return to serve you when you take back your family’s throne. But even with all their arts, I fear I am beyond any cure but the grave. I have had a longer life than I deserved, and I only wish I could have lived to see the new world you're going to build._

_I have loved you since the moment I met you. If your last command was to have me fight by your side, I would have done so till my last dying breath. There is no greater pain in the world than being apart from the one you love. You tasked me to find a cure and return to you. But I have failed you. Forgive me, Khaleesi._

_My last and only wish is that you keep my last possessions with you to remind you of me so that even in death, I can remain steadfastly by your side._

_Valar Morghulis._

_Ser Jorah Mormont_

Dany dropped the letter to the ground, watching as it lay over the ring and the chest plate Samwell Tarly had given her. It seemed strange to her to feel so melancholy and yet she had shed no more than a tear or two for her old bear knight.

Her last memory of him was on the plains of Vaes Dothrak revealing the greyscale on his arm to her. Even then he wanted to fight for her despite knowing that she had not completely forgiven him for his past treachery. He was willing to do anything for her, that was what he said as he fell to his knees, so she told him to find a cure and come back to her. A fallen bear depleted of strength was of no use to her, no matter how loyal he proclaimed to be.

Now he was gone.

She felt… what was it? Guilt? Regret? Remorse?

Was she cruel to have sent him away? Should she have sent for healers and witches and sorcerers from far and wide to come and cure him instead?

The questions stirred in her mind as she ran her hand absently over Drogon's black scales.

_If Ser Jorah were here, would he have made acquiring the North's allegiance an easier task? He was still a Mormont, after all. An exiled one but a Northerner nonetheless._

But then should he have been successful in doing so, she wouldn’t have needed to marry Jon Snow.

Her amethyst eyes looked up to the dark grey clouds hovering above the broken dome, thinking how her husband’s eyes were of a much darker shade.

_What if I didn’t marry him?_

A conflicting wave of emotion washed over her and pulled on her heart far more than the loss of her bear knight did.

On the one hand, she would have been spared her another arranged marriage to a man she knew nothing about. On the other… she wouldn’t have met Jon Snow otherwise. Or at least, knew him the way she did now.

Her cheeks burned as she recalled his words to her the previous night before she left his chambers.

_“Stay. I can speak with Sam another night. You shouldn’t be alone.”_

_His hand was on the door, preventing her from leaving._

_She glared at him with hot tears brimming in her eyes, “You can keep your pity to yourself. I would think you of all people would be the least concerned given the fact that I have been nothing but alone these past few nights. And who do you think is the cause for that?”_

As she sighed, a part of her wished she did stay. He had sent Ghost to be with her that night. But not even a direwolf, no matter how tame, was a sufficient replacement for a husband. 

Then his duel with Qhono in the courtyard came to her mind. The brutal way he had swung his sword, the sweat dripping from his brow as he roared when he was beaten down, the ferocity in his eyes as he pummeled her Dothraki _ko_ with his fists and the way he had looked at her with blood dripping from his hands and forehead as he held an _arakh_ in his hands.

It made her blood rush through her, hot wanton thoughts running through her mind causing that familiar warmth to develop between her thighs. How she missed seeing that look in his eyes when he would fuck her hard and rough while her hands were tied behind her back and she was pressed down on a bed or over a table.

As much as she hated to admit it, she longed for him. Cursing at herself, she felt her skin grow even warmer as she thought of her husband while she ran her hand through her silver tresses.

Due to the heat of the Dragonpit whenever her children were present, Dany discarded her heavy winter cloak and gown and was clad in only her loose silk shift.

Since she had been married, her husband had kept her urges satiated. But as Dany felt the need pulse within her, she knew he would not be there to give her the release she longed for.

Her hand reached down to touch her sensitive center. Her heartbeat quickening and her breathing grew shallow. But just before she could proceed to move her fingers down any further, she felt the presence of someone watching her.

Dany slowly opened her eyes and as if she had unknowingly summoned him herself, she found her husband standing at the center of the Dragonpit. Steel grey eyes aflame with intense desire, observing her every move.

~ ~ ~ ~

JON

Jon dismounted from his horse as he glanced up at the cavernous structure before him. Iron doors melted into the scorch-marked stones. He had been here many times before but the last time he had not stepped on the sands of the Dragonpit since the first time he had done so.

That first day when he met her.

His pace was quick as he walked towards the open gates but once he entered, his steps slowed. As he walked inside, the air he breathed in was hot and arid, tasting of ashes and burnt flesh. He untied and removed his thick cloak and unclasped his fleece-lined gambeson, tossing them both aside after shrugging them off. His brow was damp with sweat the further he walked, and he felt his undershirt cling to his back as well. His boots stepping over broken bones and blackened skulls. 

Then, finally, saw her. She was dressed scantily in a thin white shift, sweat glistening on her arms as she lay back against her black dragon, her hand on his scales, his wing half obscuring her. Her gold and cream dragon was to her left and the emerald one was closest to him curled in a tight ball.

As he took a step, the green dragon stirred, lifting its horned head, long sharp teeth bared and steam coming from its nostrils. The gold and cream dragon trilled curiously as it turned its head towards Jon.

Jon took another step and the black dragon’s wing lifted.

His breath caught in his throat as he saw his wife in full view.

Her eyes were closed, her mouth parted slightly and her hand moving in between her legs. Her silver hair was loose and unbraided, and her shift had slipped down one shoulder, exposing her pale, milk-white skin. Her face was flushed and her chest heaved up and down with her breathing.

He felt the blood rush to his face and to his groin. His hands grew warm and there was an uncomfortable tightness in his breeches.

Suddenly her hand stopped moving and her eyes opened. The hazy amethyst sheen of her gaze meeting his own.

The Queen slowly rose to her feet, the lustful look in her eyes giving way to silent fury. The soft snarls of her dragons growing louder as they turned to the uninvited guest in their midst.

Yet, Jon felt no fear. Even when he had first beheld the dragons, his first thought was that of awe and wonder.

He took a few steps forward. The emerald-scaled dragon moved closer, a garbled growl in its throat as its wing blocked Jon’s path.

 _Rhaegal_ , Jon recalled as he stared into the dragon’s bronze-colored eyes.

A hot gust of air blew on Jon’s face as the dragon’s head lowered close to him, taking in his scent.

Without thinking, Jon removed his gloves and threw them to the ground, his eyes fixed on Rhaegal.  

 _I won’t hurt you…_ Jon thought as he dared to reach out a hand towards the dragon’s snout. He could feel the searing heat from the dragon’s breath, but his hand was sure and steady, and something within him made him believe he was doing the right thing.

Rhaegal became still as Jon tentatively brushed his fingertips along the dragon’s face, its emerald scales were hot but not scalding enough to burn his skin. When Jon drew back his hand, the dragon gave a throaty purr as it turned to its mother, giving a rough snort as she walked forward.

The cream and gold dragon meanwhile moved its snout nearer to her in an affectionate manner.

“ _Sōvegon, ñuha riñar.”_ She said aloud, her hand gently caressing the cream and gold dragon’s face.

The black dragon purred and growled softly before stepping back and spreading its wings wide, the red tips of its scales shimmering as it started to climb the sides of the broken wall of the Dragonpit and flew off into the sky once it had climbed outside of the dome.

The other dragons followed suit, quickly trailing after their brother and flying out of the dome, leaving the Queen and Jon alone together on the hot sands.

The Queen’s eyes were directed up towards them, the look on her face beaming with the pride only a mother could have for her children. Though there was also a look of surprise and confusion in her eyes as she turned back to look at him.

Jon curled his fingers into a fist by his side. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and he felt his blood run hot as it rushed through his veins.

He had touched a dragon and managed to walk away unharmed.

The thrill and sheer power of the moment gave him a sense of renewed vigor as he came face to face with the mother of dragons.

Would she be as gentle with him as she was with her children, he wondered, but the sharp gleam in her eyes answered his question for him. It mattered not. Gentleness was never something that he expected of her nor did he ever want her to be anyway.

But he did want her, undoubtedly so, and he was tempted to march straight towards her to take her into his arms, but then she opened her mouth to speak.

~ ~ ~ ~ 

DAENERYS

“The last man who had dared to come so close to my dragons and survive was Lord Tyrion. Yet even he thought twice about laying his hand on them like you just did.” Dany stated curiously.

She had watched in astonishment when her husband stretched out his hand towards Rhaegal. Her green dragon seemed to be transfixed by the Northerner as he moved to touch the soft scales around Rhaegal’s jaw.

_How was that possible?_

She wondered if perhaps her dragon could smell her scent off of him but then remembered that it had been some time since the King in the North had shared her bed. 

_Does he share the blood of Old Valyria as well?_

But Dany knew she had not the time nor the resources to find an immediate answer to the unusual conundrum. There were other questions that filled her mind, too many of them for her to even process.

“I have no fear of them… or of you.” Her husband responded as he took a step towards her.

She tightened her lips, “You should.”

“Aye.” He said simply closer but she moved back, indicating that she did not want him any nearer.

He paused in his steps and his voice softened, “The reason I have no fear of them is because their mother is my wife.”

Dany felt a wave of protective jealousy come over her, “They will never be _your_ children.”

The King in the North shook his head, “No. Nor will I ever make such a claim. They are yours, just as you are mine.”

She felt her lip twitch as she lifted her head, “A bold statement, my lord husband."

“I only speak what is true.”

"Why are you here?" She asked, gritting her teeth, "You've kept to yourself all this time, and now you want to talk? Is it because it's finally occurred to you that perhaps you aren't the only one in the world who has lost people they care for?”

Dany stepped forward, her rage spurring her on, “Did the death of my bear knight guilt you into coming here to console me? If that is the reason for your presence, then I would rather be alone! I told you that I care nothing for your pity or your guilt. I've had more than my share of both from other people throughout my life, I need no more from you."

Now it was his turn to frown, “I do not nor have I ever pitied you. Neither did Ser Jorah Mormont's death move me to be here. There is much that needs to be said. I can waste my breath telling you all these things and more… But I believe Your Grace might desire something more than just my words.”

A mix of emotions filled her from within and she cursed in Valyrian under her breath. Her face burning as he drew closer. 

She wanted to slap him across the face for his insolence or berate him for his brazen demeanor, and yet her body still ached for him and the promise that the fire in his gaze held. The heat surrounding the Dragonpit slowly started to dissipate with the absence of her dragons, and yet Dany’s skin was flushed as if with fever.

Her amethyst eyes glared at him, “Do you take me for some doe-eyed maid who would fall into your arms at the slightest touch?”

He was so close she could breathe in the musk of his sweat, “So curse at me then, scream at me, strike me if you must. Say the word and turn me to ash. But I will take you, Your Grace, unless you command me otherwise.”

His hand reached for her waist and pulled her to him as he whispered with conviction, “So command me.”

The words ordering him to leave her were on her lips, simmering at the tip of her tongue. The look in his eyes challenging her to say them. But her pride and need for control could only keep her restrained for so long. Another need within her was far more urgent.

Dany's hands grabbed fistfuls of his shirt as she pulled it off of him so he was bare-chested in front of her. Then her fingers were quick at work at the lacings of his pants, as she tugged hard on the strings, she kept her fierce gaze on him.

“You asked for a command, here it is.” She taunted in a breathless voice, already feeling the slickness between her thighs as she slipped her hand inside his breeches.

He hardened against her palm as she held his thick shaft in her hand, “I want you inside me. Now.”

In response, he tightened his fist around her hair, forcing her head to tilt up to his and he took her mouth hungrily, his teeth grazing her bottom lip. He walked forward holding her to him as he suckled her tongue. She groaned impatiently as her hands moved to grasp his neck, tangling her fingers in his dark curls as she pressed herself against him. In a quick motion, she lifted herself up and he caught her thighs as she clung to him.

Lost in the passion of their frenzied kisses, she didn’t realize that he had somehow brought them inside one of the darkened cells that surrounded the Dragonpit. Inside the deteriorating alcove, her back brushed against the sharp rocks that jutted out from the wall. She could feel it digging into her skin as he leaned into her while spreading her legs wide.

His hands gathered her shift, pulling it above her waist till her legs and her bottom were completely exposed. His mouth moved from her swollen lips to her neck, nipping the soft skin underneath her ear. She whimpered as her hips bucked against him and her fingers pulled harder at his hair.

Just when she thought she couldn’t wait any longer, he drove his thick, warm cock into her. Dany gasped and her mouth hung open as he drew back and thrust even more deeply inside her. She relished the feeling of him, the pungent aroma of their bodies, the sound of their skin grinding against each other, the deep grunts he made as he quickened his pace.

Her lustful cries grew louder as he pushed her back harder against the jagged wall, small bits of rock crumbled down behind her. The pain only heightening her want as her wet cunt closed in around him, pulsing with each stroke.

Yet it wasn’t enough. She needed more of him. Closer, deeper, faster.

She pushed him back hard, but he held her down as his rhythm increased. She growled and thrashed in response underneath him, breaking his momentum. Sensing her desires, he walked backwards carrying her with him until his back rested on a small outer ledge. It was just high enough for her to rest her knees on them, now it was her turn to slam his body against the stone wall as she kissed him hard. Her mouth seeking answers to questions she didn’t even know she had.

As he held her waist to balance her, she dug her fingernails deep into his shoulders as she slid herself up and down his erect member. Her hips jerking back and forth, she felt his hand come in between them and he pressed his thumb on to her sensitive nub.

Dany panted heavily as she pulled back from him to angle herself better as she rocked against him. She heard a loud rip as his other hand tore the front of her silk shift, freeing her breasts to the cold air. She felt his hot mouth on her exposed nipple and as his teeth clamp down on the tender flesh, she gave a loud cry.

His thumb continued to massage her center as she moved with greater speed, feeling her end draw close. Without realizing it, tears burned at the corners of her eyes. As the waves of pleasure and ecstasy built up within her, so did the grief that she had so adamantly kept at bay.

Yet it seemed he always knew what it was that she needed as he pushed up into her again and again and again. She could hear her dragons’ calls resounding above the Dragonpit. Their screeches seemed to echo her desperate sighs, feeling her own fire flare up within her as she finally reached her peak.

A burst of white light flashed behind her eyes as she arched her back in wanton abandon in his arms. She felt him shudder as he flooded her with his seed, feeling it trickle down her thighs as he rested his forehead on her chest, breathing hard.

But as the euphoria passed, so did the walls she had grown used to shielding herself with. As she took a deep, unsteady breath, she realized that her face was wet with tears. Her shoulders shook with her sobs as she dropped her head on to his shoulder.

He gave a gentle hush in her ear as he cradled her, holding her tightly as she wept.

_A dragon does not weep… I must have fire in my eyes not tears… What kind of a Queen am I if I cannot carry myself with dignity?_

Yet her own inner admonishments did nothing to stem the overwhelming feeling of sorrow and pain that clutched her heart.

Instead, a distant memory came to her mind as she broke down in her husband’s arms.

_You have a gentle heart, Khaleesi, you try to cover it up and deny it but you do._

_I do not have a gentle heart, Ser. When you see all those who have wronged me burn for their crimes and their treachery, it is not with a gentle heart that I do so._

_So you say, Khaleesi, so you say._

"Do you think I have a gentle heart?" She murmured into the King in the North's ear.

He pushed her back and held her face in his hand, wiping her cheek with his thumb, "A Queen with a gentle heart would not be capable of ruling the Seven Kingdoms or commanding armies as you do."

"Does that make me a monster?" She asked, a wall of tears behind her pale lilac eyes.

He shook his head, holding on to the small of her back with his other hand, "You are Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. The mother of dragons and the wife to a stubborn Northern fool."

"Then let me be just your wife for this moment and forget everything else." She said in a low voice as she rested her forehead against his.

He kissed her long and hard and she abandoned herself completely to him as they sought comfort in each other amidst the ruins of the Dragonpit, the winged shadows of dragons circling the sands as snow began to fall.

* * *

 

DAENERYS

Waking from a dreamless sleep, the Queen reached her arm out across her bed for her husband but her hand grasped only air. Her eyes fluttered open and her brow creased, but the area beside her was still warm so she knew he must have just newly woken.

_Another night terror, perhaps?_

She groaned softly, her body still throbbing from the hours of raw and frenzied lovemaking that only her husband could give. She sighed with a mix of ecstasy and pain as she pushed herself up from the bed, her eyes searching the room. 

When she saw the chair by her hearth was empty, she sat up on her bed and wrapped the soft linen sheet around her. Her bare feet moved to the cold stone floor as she stood and draped the extra length of sheet over her shoulder.

Walking out of her bedchambers and into her solar, she saw that the door leading to her balcony was slightly ajar. An icy breeze greeted her as she walked towards it.

She gave a small smile when her eyes finally found what she was seeking.

He was wearing his thick wolf pelted cloak, his back was to her as he stood with his hands on the snow-covered railings. Dany opened the door and stepped outside, large flakes of snow clung to her silver hair, her bare feet treading over the cold, wet precipitation.

His dark hair and the matted fur of his cloak were also half-covered with snow. Dany thought that, in the dim light of the torches, his hair almost looked like a pale silver with all that snow on him.

 _What a queer thought_ , Dany mused as she shook her head.

The chill of the night air pricked her exposed skin as she walked out towards him.

“My lord husband.” She greeted softly.

“Your Grace.” He responded, a hint of surprise in his voice as he turned his head.

She had grown used to this habitual greeting that they’ve adopted since their wedding night. It was almost like an unspoken secret they shared, this intimate connection that existed in a simple exchange of words.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to wake you.” He said, his voice was hoarse and there were dark shadows underneath his eyes.

“The bed is cold without you.” She replied laying a hand on top of his.

He gave her a brief smile as he took her hand and brought it to his lips, “You won’t find it any warmer out here.”

“But you’re here.” She whispered, reaching for him, “I expect you would do whatever you can to keep your wife warm.”

“Aye.” He responded, his Northern accent thick on his tongue.

He drew her to him, enveloping her in his thick pelted cloak, pressing a soft kiss on her shoulder as his bread scraped against her bare skin.

They stood in silence for a moment as the snow continued to fall around them.

She listened to the slow thuds of his heart and the measured breaths he took as she rested her head on his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around her.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked in a low voice as he traced a hand over the dark marks on her upper arm.

She smiled again, this was another conversation that they had gotten used to repeating.

“No more than usual.” She answered with a lazy grin.

He hummed in quiet amusement as he rested his cheek against her hair.

“We shouldn’t stand out here for too long. I would never forgive myself if the Queen took ill due to my negligence.” He murmured in her ear.

“My blood runs quite warm, Jon Snow.” She responded lightly, “I am the blood of the dragon, after all. I do not fear illness or the cold… or even death for that matter.”

Just then, she felt his muscles tense and she looked up at him with concern. There was a strange look in his eyes, one that she had not seen before. He took a breath as if he had just made a silent decision in his mind. 

“Come.” He said taking her hand in his and leading her back inside her solar.

The snow was still clinging to their hair and clothes as he gestured to her to sit on a chair by the fire. He removed his cloak and draped it over her. Then he knelt before her, his hands atop hers.

"What's wrong?” Dany ventured to ask, wondering at the sudden shift in his demeanor.

He gave her a small nod, “There is something I must tell you.”

He hesitated once more and Dany squeezed his hands in reassurance.

“Do you remember the morning after our wedding? I told you that we would always try to be honest with each other. I also said that as your husband I would do whatever it took to keep you safe and protected. I would stand by you no matter the cost and we promised that we would always trust each other. I realize I have not been keeping to those promises as well as I should have. I was wrong and I failed you these last few days but I swear to you by all the gods that I will never tell you anything that is not the truth."

“I don’t understand,” Dany responded, a look of deep worry in her eyes.

"I need you to trust me now. Will you do that for me?” The tone in his voice was urgent as he emphasized each word in his question.

She nodded slowly and with cautious uncertainty but it seemed enough for him.

He took a deep breath, looking down at their hands, swallowing hard as he tried to find the right words to say. Then he raised his grey eyes to hers.

“There is a War that’s coming.”

“A war? Against who?” Dany asked.

“The Others.”

He continued, “They are sometimes called the White Walkers. They used to be just monsters in tales told to little children before they sleep. It is said that when the Long Night, a winter that lasts for years and years, would come again, the Walkers and their army of the dead will come with it.”

She felt as if he had just spoken to her in a different language.

“The dead?” Dany repeated.

As his words sunk in, she started to laugh. But when his expression turned even more somber and she saw a hint of fear in his eyes, she stopped.

“What are you talking about?” She questioned, her brows furrowing.

_Is this a trick? A bad joke? Or some kind of riddle?_

She attempted to pull her hands away from him but he held on more tightly, keeping her in place.

“I know I might seem like a raving madman. I don’t blame you if you think that I am. I understand how it sounds, how difficult it is to believe, but I am asking you to. This is important. I wouldn’t be saying all this to you if it wasn’t.” He stated gravely.

Dany searched his eyes carefully, trying to see if she could detect a trace of irony, jest or doubt. But his firm gaze remained the same.

“You know the words of my House. ‘Winter is Coming'. But we never meant the cold or the winter storms, it’s always been about _them._ The Others were said to have lived in the Lands of Always Winter north of the Wall. They disappeared for thousands of years. But now they've returned. I know because I’ve seen them and I’ve fought them. They are raising an army of corpses, the dead come alive again, absent of any soul or will, completely at the command of the ones who turned them.”

Nothing he was saying made any sense to her as he kept speaking. The words pouring out from him like a flood of water breaking a dam.

“I do not yet know their reasons for doing so but they intend to come south of the Wall with their army and if we do nothing to stop them, every man, woman and child in Westeros will die.”

She couldn’t bear to listen anymore as she stood and wrenched her hands from him. It seemed as if he had suddenly turned into a completely different person than the cold, hardened warrior that she knew and married.

Dany wrapped her arms around herself as she walked away from him, his cloak still on her shoulders.

“Why are you telling me all this?” She asked, her back towards him.

“Because this is the only War that matters and to win it, we have to fight together. Because this is the reason why I died. I tried to save the Free Folk from the Others, to do what Mance Raydar set out to do, which was to bring his people south of the Wall to protect them. Because if I was brought back for a purpose, it would be to finish this, to fight to save our people, _all_ our people, not just the North.”

She could hear him approaching her from behind.

“I should have told you about this the day we first met, but if I did, you probably would have had me executed the moment the words left my mouth.”

She exhaled hard, “And what exactly has changed since then that makes you think I still won’t do that?”

“Because I know you and you know me. You know I would never lie to you about any of this and I know that I can trust you with my life.” He answered.

Dany closed her eyes, praying that she was somehow still dreaming, that perhaps she was in a night terror of her own. But she knew in her heart that she wasn’t. She felt her arms tremble with anger.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the pelt cloak, “Is this why you married me? So you can take my armies and my dragons with you to fight these... things?”

“I married you to unite our Kingdoms. Because it would have torn the country apart if we hadn’t. If we spent all this time fighting each other, all our dead would just become a part of another army. Only this army is commanded by generals who don’t negotiate or surrender. I would never ask you to fight a battle that isn’t yours. But if the Others make it past the Wall, it will be the end of all of us.”

She scoffed, tilting her head upwards, “You’re asking me to give up everything so I could fight this War against monsters of myths and legends.”

“There is a way that I can prove that what I am saying is true.”

She couldn’t believe she was even asking this, “How?”

“On Dragonstone.” He said, “Sam told me there is something hidden deep within the caves on the island. Something that will help us in this war. But I will not go there unless you are with me, because all of this would be for nothing if I do not have you by my side.”

_When I take the Seven Kingdoms, I need you by my side…_

She remembered those words… the last words she said to her bear knight before she sent him away to die… alone and in pain, with no one but a young acolyte to hold his hand as he passed.

As she thought about Ser Jorah, she felt a tightness in her chest. She had asked her bear knight to come back to her and fight by her side. Now it was she who was being asked that very same thing.

She weighed her husband’s words in her mind. If there was one thing he had been right about, it was that she knew he was not lying. What benefit could he possibly gain if he did? Did he think he could say something that outlandish and walk away unscathed?

But if she didn’t believe him, what then? Would she kill him? Have him sent away? Would she risk another civil war in a realm that was still recuperating from the last one?

And… on the other hand, what if everything he was telling her was the truth? What if there did exist a threat of dead men controlled by these…Walkers coming south to kill them all?

Would she be want to be known as the Queen of War and Chaos or the Queen of the Dead?

_Or would you want to be something more?_

Her head was spinning.

But thinking of him now, this Northerner of hers, with his scars and his constant night terrors. This man who claimed to have been brought back from the dead to fight the dead. This single-minded, sullen, impudent King in the North who she had foolishly thought she could bend to her will.

This… Jon Snow.

She knew what he was truly asking of her and she needed to make a choice.

So she did.

Dany slowly turned to face her husband, her amethyst eyes shimmering with the glow of the firelight.

“Tell me more about the Others."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Going with a mix of book and show timeline in terms of Sam and Ser Davos in Castle Black. Maester Aemon dies before Jon leaves for Hardhome and after he dies, Jon sends Sam to Oldtown with Gilly and little Sam. Stannis and co are still at the Wall when this happens.
> 
> 2\. This is the start of the many R+L=J clues that'll become more evident as we move along. 
> 
> 3\. As with Arya, you can't have Sam be all mega-OP-cure-all-doctor when he's just a novice/acolyte. So he's missing some appendages and of course he couldn't friggin cure greyscale by just following a book. So, RIP Ser Jorah. 
> 
> 4\. I tried to make Sam a bit less of a dick (hehe) in this chapter because I hated S8 Sam with a passion, so I'm sorry if you hate Sam and had to contend with a really long POV from him, hope it was good tho. 
> 
> 5\. I really can't write smut to save my life hahaha Don't worry I'll bring more kinky stuff into the future, but decided to keep it more comforting make-up sex instead. 
> 
> 6\. I stole some show stuff for this chap, which I'm sure you'll notice. I also plagiarized Ser Jorah's goodbye letter but added a few embellishments of my own. The ring of Ser Jorah you can find if you do a google search of it. 
> 
> I might write more notes in a bit, so feel free to ask, comment, and say some good stuff below :)


	8. I Drink. I Know Things.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany and Tyrion get their suspicions confirmed. Sansa and Dany get all up in their feelings. Jon and Dany say goodbye. Varys is being a sneaky motherfucker and has a surprise at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teehee. *sneaking on AO3 while the Emmy's are going on so no one can tell this chapter has been long overdue...*
> 
> Hi Friends!!
> 
> I Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiive!!!!! So. Of course. First off, I sincerely apologize for the 2 1/2 month long wait. August was a very busy month work wise then September brought some fandom drama, some more work, school stuff and then I got the stomach flu.  
> I know. Excuses, excuses.  
> Well, the update you've wanted is finally here. It didn't exactly reach 20K of talking like I promised some of you but there is just talking in this chap. *ducks to avoid stuff being thrown at me*  
> I swear, there'll be smut in like the next chap (whenever that comes out LOL).  
> I can't give you a timeline on the next update because school and work is taking up a lot of my time so... yeah...  
> Also! I want to give a shoutout to Writerwolfe for helping me with this chap and my other amazing friends who gave me really great feedback <3 Thank you friends. I love you all so very much.  
> So I hope you like this chapter. I hope you're enjoying the Emmy's coz I ain't watching that bullshit. And I hope you all have a great day/night.  
> \- chin

* * *

**Chapter 8**

SANSA

A sharp pain registered behind her eyes as she sucked air through her teeth.

The heavy curtains were drawn over her windows, but slivers of sunlight still managed to peek through the small slits between the drapes.

Sansa rubbed her temple as she leaned forward on her chair, her elbows propped up on her table next to an untouched plate of bread and cheese. Her long auburn hair hung loose and uncombed over her right shoulder.

Her mind was swimming with distorted images of a waking dream.

_A direwolf was prowling around her bed while a shadowy figure flipped a small dagger in its hand…_

_Sansa was laid out atop her bed, a puddle of wine from her dropped cup collected on the floor…_

She sighed in agony as she tried to push the jarring visions from her thoughts.

_The sound of a tongue clicking condescendingly…_

_“Lady Stark, the Lady of Winterfell. D’you think Father and Mother would be proud to see what their precious little girl has grown up to be.”_

_That voice… it was so familiar…_

_“After all these years, you’re still the same sad, pathetic little Sansa wanting to be Queen.”_

_Sansa’s mouth was dry as she slurred, “I s-saved Winterfell… I s-saved the North…”_

_The voice laughed bitterly, “Looking at the state of you, you’re not a fucking savior of anything. In fact, you seem to be looking more like Cersei every day. Care for some more wine, Lady Stark? Are you going to set Winterfell on fire the next time you don’t get what you want?”_

_“W-who are you?” Sansa demanded._

_The direwolf gave a low growl. The stranger walked closer. Around their face was a swath of brown cloth revealing only their cold, dark eyes._

“ _No one.”_

Sansa violently thrashed her arm to the side, sending the silver platter of food clanging on to the stone floor. She took several deep breaths, but the pain did not dull as she lay her head on her arms.

The dream had haunted her for several days now, ever since she had learned of Cersei’s death.

One of her handmaidens had told her what had transpired during the legitimization ceremony of the bastards before the Queen and the King. A masked stranger had fought through several of the Queen’s guards and entered the Queen’s Ballroom throwing down the heads of Cersei, the Mountain and Cersei’s Hand, Qyburn. It was said that Jaime Lannister’s head was there as well, yet someone else had told her it was only his golden hand.

But no one else could confirm what had happened next or who the stranger was. The Queen had sent everyone away and the King in the North had stormed out of the chamber with his direwolf only moments later.

Cersei Lannister was dead.

Another enemy whose death Sansa was deprived of seeing with her own eyes.

She was never one for cursing at the gods yet it seemed that the gods were fully intent on turning a blind eye to her suffering. The few instances of reprieve she had in the last few months were escaping Ramsay, finding Jon and taking back Winterfell. Yet, even those moments seemed distant and foreign to her. As if it had happened a lifetime ago. Perhaps it did.

She bit her lip and her fingers clutched at the roots of her auburn hair as she felt the tears start to resurge behind her eyes.

_Stop crying, you bloody fool. You’re not a little girl anymore! Stop it!_

A steady rap at her door startled her and she quickly brushed the tears from her eyes.

“Go away!” She snarled as she dropped her head atop her arms on the table.

Yet she heard the door creak open regardless of her protest.

“The Lord Hand is asking to see you, my lady.” She heard one of her guards say in an apologetic voice, “I’m afraid he’s quite insistent.”

She heard the sound of footsteps pass through her doorway, slowly approaching her. When the door had clicked shut, Sansa opened her eyes and lifted her head to find her former husband standing before her, an even grimmer look on his face as he carried a hefty wine jug in his right hand. There were dark circles underneath his moss-green eyes and his beard and dark blonde hair were tangled and unruly. His striped black and blue doublet looked as if it was in dire need of a wash and he was absent his Hand of the Queen brooch.

“It seems like I’m not the only one in dire need of a drink, Lady Stark.”

He nonchalantly stepped over the pieces of food that had scattered all over her stone floor and he set the jug of wine in front of her.

Sansa raised her chin and dropped her hands to her lap, attempting to regain a sense of formal decorum despite her puffy eyes, “I’m afraid I must decline your generous offer, my lord. I fear I have lost my taste for wine.”

Tyrion chuckled dryly, “Ah, you say this now, my lady, but I have just procured for us the finest vintage from the Arbor. It would be a pity to have it grace your table without even sampling a taste of it. Believe me when I say that there is nothing in the world that can rival the taste of good wine, except perhaps the warmth of a wet cunt around my cock.”

She could smell the drink reeking from him as she glared, “You dare come into my quarters in such a state, speaking such filth? I should call my guards to have you removed at once.”

But Tyrion only nodded drearily, “That is indeed well within your power and right, Lady Stark. But before you start clamoring for my removal, I thought that perhaps you might appreciate some company and my wise counsel.”

Sansa scoffed as she folded her arms, “What use have I for wise counsel, my Lord Hand? I’m being held prisoner here once more, only this time it is my own brother who is my jailer.”

Tyrion took two cups from the table and poured deep, red wine into one of them. Taking the filled cup, he drunk deep and sighed, “All the more reason you need me. After all, I don’t think your brother could be blamed for doing what he did. You weren’t exactly the loyal, dutiful sister that the King in the North needed you to be, what with your intentions for the North and all.”

Sansa’s blue eyes narrowed, “How could you possibly know anything about my intentions?”

“Oh, you wound me, Lady Sansa. I thought you knew me well enough by now that you wouldn’t have had to ask that question.” Tyrion stated in feigned disappointment as he refilled his cup and raised it, “Knowing everything about everything is my strongest asset. Aside from drinking, of course, and fucking. Though I haven’t really had much desire or stamina for the latter these days, so I indulge excessively in the former.”

Sansa watched as Lord Tyrion guzzled greedily from his cup.

He gave her a knowing glance and then shrugged as he settled into the chair opposite from her, “You may need to be mindful of those you keep closest to you. A few gold dragons here and there and you’ll be surprised what people may find out about you.”

“I am not a simpleton, Lord Tyrion. I’ve learned long ago that the walls of King’s Landing have both eyes and ears.” Sansa stated pointedly.

The Lord Hand hummed, “You are not a difficult woman to read, my lady. After all you’ve been through, I’m not surprised that you arranged this political alliance so you can maintain your hold on the Vale, the Riverlands and the North. Much harm has been done to your family and to you. You’ve lost… so much…”

The change in the tone of his voice did not escape Sansa’s notice as she observed Tyrion’s green eyes glaze over as he took another drink.

He seemed to have caught himself and he gave her a weak smile, “It’s only natural that you would want to hold on to what belongs to you. After all, there is nothing we won’t do to hold on to what is ours… the things we do for our family, eh?”

Sansa watched him silently for a few moments, and then she leaned forward saying in a more sympathetic tone, “I’m sorry… about your brother and your sister.”

Tyrion licked his lips and held his cup to his chest, “I don’t know if you truly mean that. You wanted Cersei dead just as much as I did. I’m sure you had no love for Jaime either. The things those two have done to your family, I can’t imagine why you would feel any sorrow for their passing.”

“To be honest, I really don’t.” Sansa confessed, “Your brother took the Riverlands from my mother’s family, he was your sister’s lover and fathered her three bastards. Cersei... she loved nothing more than to humiliate and taunt me like I was no better than a doll to tear apart.”

_Drink, my little dove..._

Sansa shook her head as she closed her eyes at the memory, feeling goose pimples rise on the back of her neck. But then she felt a simmering rage thrum within her chest.

“I wanted her dead for so long. It seems almost strange knowing that she’s gone. I wish I had seen the life leave from her eyes for the last time.” Sansa stated, her voice bitter and cold.

Tyrion’s eyebrows raised as he nodded mirthlessly, “As do I, Lady Stark, as do I.”

Sansa took a deep breath, her eyes flickering to the jug of wine. Then, without a second thought, she poured herself a cup and drunk quickly from it. The wine trickled slightly from the corner of her lip as she gulped down the sweet drink, the aftertaste of the beverage burning in her throat.

Tyrion looked at her with mild intrigue as Sansa rested her cup back on the table and touched her mouth with her sleeve.

_If Cersei could see only see me now... Would she be impressed at what I’ve become? What she’s made me become?_

Tyrion refilled both their cups without prompt and settled back into his seat, his scarred face tilting slightly to the right as he observed his former wife.

“I suppose in the end, you Starks have the last laugh. After all, look at your brother. He may be a bastard but he is King. Just like Tommen and Joffrey were, except my bastard nephews are now nothing but ashes and dirt in the wind... like my father... and Myrcella.”

“Tommen and Myrcella were sweet children, they didn’t deserve what happened to them.” Sansa stated as she brought her full cup to her lips.

“Sweet children don’t belong in this cruel, merciless world.” Tyrion muttered, “If there’s anything I’ve learned from this wretched shit life that I’ve lived, it’s that we either die young like they did or we turn into the monsters we swear we would never become.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes as she took a sip, “Is that what you think we are, my lord, monsters?”

“I killed my mother, I killed my father, I dreamt of killing my sister and her sadistic son, I betrayed my family name, I allowed a Dothraki horde to massacre every last living member of my House and ravage the lands that my family ruled over for centuries.” Tyrion enumerated as he sunk deeper into his seat, his cup swaying in his hand, “If that doesn’t make me a monster, I don’t know what else would.”

“And what of me?”

Lord Tyrion tilted his head, “You?”

“How am I a monster?”

He smirked slightly, “Would little Sansa Stark of years past wish to watch her enemies die before her eyes? I doubt you’re even the same girl that I married. There is a look that haunts your eyes that I fear reflects the same shadows that haunt mine.”

Ramsay's voice whispered in her head.

_You will scream for me, won’t you, sweet sweet wife…_

Sansa’s lip trembled and she took a longer drink to mask the look of agitation on her face as she battled with the memories in her mind.

“I was just a stupid girl then.” Sansa said as she looked at the cup in her hands, “I knew nothing about the world, about people and the horrors that they are capable of, about death and pain and…”

“Well, now you know. You should be grateful that you do. Far better to be alive and smart than ignorant and dead, wouldn’t you say?” The Lord Hand quipped.

Bright blue eyes flashed back up at him, “Grateful? Am I to be _grateful_ for having my entire life taken from me? To be tortured, shamed, beaten and defiled to the point that death would have been a mercy? I am who I am because of what I’ve endured, Lord Tyrion, but I would be damned if I had to be _grateful_ for it. If I could have had it any other way I would rather I stayed a stupid girl for the rest of my life if everything would be the way it once was, if everyone I loved would be alive and breathing, if all that I have suffered was nothing more than a night terror that would fade with the breaking of dawn.”

Sansa slammed her cup back on the table, wine sloshing over the edge tainting the wooden table as she threw him a look of disgust, “Is this why you’ve come to me, my Lord Hand? To trade regrets and the horrible things that we’ve both endured so we can commiserate over them together? I believe you can wallow in self-pity quite sufficiently in your own quarters.”

But her outburst only amused the Lannister dwarf as he nursed his cup of wine, “You have some fire in you, still, Lady Stark. Did I not promise that we would find some idle time to talk to one other about the things that have transpired in our years apart?”

“I think I’ve had more than enough of talking. You should leave, my lord. I am certain there are other more important matters that demand your attention.” Her tone was harsh and acerbic as she glared at the Hand of the Queen.

“You want me to leave without even hearing a word of my freely offered counsel?” He clicked his tongue as he finished the wine in his cup, “I believe you to be much smarter than that, my lady. After all, was I not right in telling you all those years ago that you would be the one to outlive us all? Look at you now, alive and the Lady of Winterfell, no less. Those who stood against you, dead and gone. It was not by sheer luck or fanciful fate that brought you to where you are even if the path that brought here was a dark and awful one.”

Sansa crossed her arms across her chest as she regarded him carefully, her chest heaving up and down as she attempted to cool her rising temper.

“What do you want from me?” Sansa asked, emphasizing each word.

“If you say you’re done talking, so be it,” Tyrion said as he waved his free hand dismissively, “All I ask is that you listen.”

Sansa pressed her lips together but she said nothing to him in response, her fingernails digging into the thick cloth of her long sleeved gown.

Tyrion lay his cup next to hers on the table and a look of mild sobriety passed his green eyes, “Despite how badly you want it and for whatever reason you think right, Northern Independence or any sort of secession would doom any of the kingdoms that answer to you and your brother. As you Starks are so fond of repeating, Winter indeed is coming, it has already come in fact judging by the snow falling outside your windows. Your people need the aid from the South to survive and no matter how many Houses you can muster to stand against the Dragon Queen, it would be akin to walking into your own pyre. Your brother understands this well—”

“My _half_ -brother is besotted by his lust for your Queen.” Sansa seethed, “His obsession with the things beyond the Wall blind him even further to what’s at stake in the North.”

Tyrion green eyes glinted with curiosity, “Things beyond the Wall?”

When Sansa realized what she had just let slip, she cursed herself silently. The wine had made her careless with her words.

“You can’t mean the wildlings? Do they not fight for your brother now? After he made some sort of peace pact with them at the Wall?” Tyrion folded his hands together on his chest as he asked his questions.

Sansa remained silent as she looked down at her wine-stained hands.

Tyrion shook his head slowly and sighed, “So be it. You can keep your brother’s secrets if you feel they would serve him better that way—”

“They think he’s a god.” Sansa stated monotonously.

Tyrion’s eyebrows knotted with deep curiosity, “A god?”

Sansa drank the last drops of her wine from her cup, wiping her mouth ungracefully with her sleeve, “There are…. Things that I am not liberty to share with you, my lord. Things that… are beyond all rational belief and reason. Things that…”

“Like Jon Snow being raised from the dead after his brothers mutinied and killed him for bringing the wildlings south of the Wall?”

She could no longer hide the surprise and fear on her face as her blue eyes widened to the size of small saucers, “Wha—How did you…?”

Tyrion picked up his cup and repeated lazily, “I drink. I know things.”

Sansa breathed hard and it finally dawned on her as she whispered, “Lord Varys.”

“The Master of Whisperers is a wily, deceptive eunuch who switches sides as easily as I used to switch whores when I was among the lot of them.” Tyrion burped after consuming the contents of his cup, “I would presume his little birds will continue to sing their songs of you when you go back North.”

“I presume the Queen is aware of all these things as well?”

The Lord Hand shrugged, “The Queen likes to keep to her counsel most of the time. Though I’m sure she and her lord husband may have discussed such things with each other at some point.”

“From what I hear, I doubt they do much talking.” Sansa commented bitterly.

Tyrion scoffed, “Perhaps. But intimacy can loosen tongues far better than the strongest wine. I often wonder what madness I may have divulged about myself in many a brothel.”

“If Jon did the tell the Queen about what happened to him at Castle Black, then it is only a matter of time before he tells her about what lies beyond the Wall.” Sansa muttered, her finger rubbing her temple again.

“Still not at liberty to tell me?”

Sansa sighed deeply, “I don’t understand it completely myself but it’s what Jon obsesses over more than anything else.”

Tyrion nodded slowly, “I see.”

There was an odd moment of silence between them. As the silence lengthened, Sansa flicked her eyes up at him. She felt a small twinge of guilt in her heart as she looked up at the man that she once called her lord husband.

“I’m sorry about how I left you. At Joffrey’s wedding.”

He didn’t seem perturbed by the apology and simply smirked, “It was a horrible and yet oddly entertaining affair. You left right when things were starting to take a turn for the better. Well, until my sister started calling for my head, of course.”

Tyrion took a breath and asked, “Was it you who killed him?”

“No.” Sansa answered, “But I wish I did.”

_Perhaps Tyrion is right, perhaps I have become the monster I’ve always feared. I once longed for the pretty, sweet things in life but all I’ve tasted are death, pain and misery. Will it ever end? What did I do to deserve this?_

Sansa felt a small tear roll down her cheek, leaving it to drip from her jaw.

Tyrion sighed deeply, “Perhaps you’re right. I should leave.”

She took a breath and the words poured out of her mouth like water from an overflowing cup,

“Jon will return to Winterfell, my lord, that I can assure you. He won’t stay in King’s Landing, not while the threat North of the Wall remains. He will rally the armies of the Seven Kingdoms to fight whatever it is that’s coming, use the Queen’s dragons if he must.”

She felt rage shake in her voice as the memory of her last conversation with Jon played in her mind.

“Who exactly is he intending to fight?”

Then she looked at Tyrion directly and she leaned forward, her hands fisting the skirt of her dress, “The White Walkers.”

To her surprise, instead of looking at her with incredulous disbelief as she had expected he would, Tyrion’s expression was somber and weary.

“It seems this information doesn’t surprise you either?” Sansa asked, noting his reaction, or lack of it.

“It was not the first time I’ve heard of them. A few years ago, Lord Commander Mormont spoke of them as well. This, at least, confirms a few suspicions I’ve had.” Tyrion responded, “Have you seen them yourself? These... White Walkers?”

Sansa shook her head, “No. Jon’s been having a difficult enough time trying to convince the Northern Lords of them. Only the wildlings seem to believe him.  They would follow him to the grave if he asked them.”

“So, the King in the North will return to the North.” Tyrion said, though it seemed he was talking more to himself than to her.

She passed a hand over her wet eyes, “Jon believes that the North calls to him and will always call to him. He can’t live in the South and neither can I. I’m a Stark, Lord Tyrion, I don’t belong here, I never did. The South has only brought death and ruin to my family.”

“And what will become of you, Lady Stark?” Tyrion asked, his expression unreadable as his moss green eyes observed her intently.

Sansa fidgeted with her fingers, pulling at them whilst she worried her bottom lip.

“When I return North, perhaps I could speak with the lords and convince them that Jon—”

As she was about to speak, the door swung open and her words caught in her throat.

Sansa jumped in her seat and Tyrion nearly dropped the cup in his hands as he turned to look over his shoulder.

“My King.” Tyrion greeted, hastily arising from his chair and bowing his head respectfully.

Sansa’s knuckles were trembling as her nails dug into the wood of the chair.

The King in the North stood at the doorway of his sister’s quarters, his black wolf-pelted cloak on his shoulders, dressed in dark grey leathers with his sword at his side. He did not look amused to see the Queen’s Hand in her room and his steel eyes lingered on him for a beat before moving towards Sansa.

A flash of white passed through the doorway as Ghost entered behind the King, silently moving inside the solar, his red eyes also peering at the Queen’s Hand as he drew close to him. The direwolf easily towered over the Lannister dwarf and Sansa could see Tyrion slightly shaking under the wild gaze of her brother’s animal companion.

“Ghost.” Jon whispered.

The direwolf stared at the Hand of the Queen a few moments longer before he stalked away into Sansa’s bedchambers.

Tyrion exhaled softly with relief, “Your Grace, if I may—”

“I need a word with my sister, Lord Hand. Alone.” The King stated gruffly as he stepped inside removing his gloves.

A tight smile appeared on Tyrion’s lips, “Of course.”

Tyrion turned towards her, “Thank you for your gracious hospitality, Lady Stark but I do believe I have overstayed my welcome.”

Tyrion offered his hand and Sansa hesitated before placing her own hand in his.

He gently dropped a soft kiss on her knuckles.

Sansa withdrew her hand from him as he stepped back from her and made his way to the door.

He paused and bowed his head to the King in the North, “Your Grace.”

Jon's grey eyes watching him as the Hand of the Queen walked past the King and exited the room, his boots echoing on the stone floor.

Once Lord Tyrion had gone, Jon grabbed the edge of the door and closed it shut.

“Lady Stark.”

Sansa lifted her head, “Jon.”

Her half-brother’s jaw tightened at her informal greeting.

“What was he doing here?”

“I don’t see how that is any of your concern.” Sansa felt her ire start to rise as she met her brother's eyes.

She saw the tension in his face deepen as he glared at her.

 “Have you changed your mind about the North?” Sansa asked, though she already knew his answer.

“I had hoped we would be past this.” Jon responded, a tone of warning in his voice.

“Have you?” She repeated.

“No.”

“Then our situation remains unchanged.” Sansa retorted, gritting her teeth.

“I will _not_ fight you, Sansa.” Jon growled, walking towards her and throwing his gloves on the table in front of her.

She watched as her brother took a slow, measured breath, trying hard to reign in the frustration that was close to boiling over.

“The Queen and I will sail to Dragonstone in three days to oversee the mining of dragonglass on the island. Then I will leave for Winterfell and prepare our people for the War to come.”

She felt her heart drop, “So you have told her, haven’t you? About the White Walkers and the army of dead men?”

Jon turned to face her, “Of course I did! Do you think I can fight and defeat them on my own? We will all die before Winter is over if we stood against them without her.”

Sansa slowly stood from her seat, her hands balled into fists, “You’ve gone completely mad! Do you think the Queen will let you simply take what you want and rule from the North? She’ll demand every sword and shield to pledge to her and what do you think will happen then? The next slave war she starts will mean the deaths of thousands of our own men. We’ll be fighting her wars forever and our House will remain at the bottom of her heel like dogs!”

Jon’s grey eyes matched her own intense glare, “There is a greater war to be fought, Sansa, and the Queen will be fighting it alongside our people. Do not forget that _you_ knelt before me and you named me your King. Daenerys is my wife and you owe her your allegiance or are you in need of a hard reminder of what it means to uphold honor and loyalty to those you’ve sworn yourself to?”

“Honor? Loyalty?” Sansa repeated in a mocking tone, “Like the loyalty of the Northern Houses as well as those of my cousin and uncle? They bowed to you because of _me_. Without me, Jon, what do you think would become of _you_?”

The words left her lips before she could stop herself. Her voice had risen three times in volume and her arms were trembling from her rage which she could barely contain as her blue eyes flashed menacingly at him. She knew that she had overstepped but at that point, she was past all thought of propriety and the wine she had imbibed did nothing to calm her temper.

The tension in the air was thick and Sansa was breathing heavily, her heart pounding within her chest as tears brimmed once more in her eyes.

They heard a soft shuffle as Ghost walked back into the solar, hanging from his mouth was a piece of brown cloth. Jon turned his attention towards his direwolf, walking towards him and taking the cloth from his jaws. Ghost licked his own nose and his red eyes silently observed Sansa as Jon moved towards the large curtained windows, running the cloth through his fingers.

She felt her lips shake as her curious eyes rested on the garment in the King’s hands.

But she moved her eyes away, determined not be distracted by the momentary interruption. The rift between her and Jon still remained.

“I thought I could trust you, Sansa.” Jon started, his hand clenching hard around the brown garment, “I could have arranged to have you on a ship for White Harbor, but I see now how grave of a mistake that would be.”

Sansa knotted her brows as she listened to him.

Without looking at her, Jon continued, “You will remain here, Lady Stark. In King’s Landing.”

She felt her blood run cold as the words left his lips.

_No… no…_

“Jon. Jon, you can’t. I—”

He continued, paying no heed to her, “It was through your actions that the alliance with the South was created in the first place, and you will see to it that the alliance holds while I am gone.”

Slowly, Jon turned to her. Against the shadow of pale light that entered her solar, the King stood an imposing figure in his wolf-pelted cloak, the gleam of the white wolf pommel shone from above his hip. His dark grey eyes peering directly into her own.

“I can’t stay here. I won’t! This isn’t my home! Father always said that there must be a Stark in Winterfell and my people need me!” There was a note of desperation in her voice but she could find no hint of sympathy in the King’s hard gaze.

“ _Our_ people need someone who can ensure that the North is capable enough of surviving the brunt of this Winter. There will be a Stark in Winterfell, but it is not going to be you.” He stated with a slight snarl on his lip.

Sansa felt the tears stinging her eyes as she cried out, “You’ve damned us all, Jon! Do you think the Seven Kingdoms would rally behind the ravings of a madman? Would the North submit to the will of a crippled boy they had long thought dead? You need me to—”

Sansa made an attempt to grab his arm but he had caught her wrist before she could reach him.

“Do not presume to tell me what I need, Lady Stark.” Jon seethed, his tone cold and menacing, “You forget your place and I would have you remember it. You _will_ do your duty, if I have to chain you to this room to do it, I will. Robb may not have had the foresight to give your lady mother the punishment she deserved after she released Jaime Lannister, but you will not find me to be as lenient when it comes to defiance... or treason.”

When Jon released his hold on her, Sansa felt herself sink slowly to the floor, her legs giving way.

Sansa turned her head to watch as he walked past her. Ghost’s red eyes were still upon her while Jon retrieved his gloves from her table.

“Please, Jon.” Sansa begged, her voice as small as a small child’s, “Don’t leave me here.”

At her words, the King in the North looked up at her, “Be grateful I did not choose to follow through on my initial threat to send you across the Narrow Sea. Or comply with the Queen’s suggestion that you be married off to a horselord and spend the rest of your days wandering the Dothraki Sea.”

As he walked to the door, Sansa saw the swish of the brown cloth in his hand. The images of her night terrors came flooding back to her along with the sound of Tyrion's voice when he talked about family.

“Ghost, to me.” Jon commanded softly, noting that the direwolf had not followed behind him. A few seconds passed before Ghost turned towards Jon, his large paws lightly treading across the stone floor.

“It was Arya, wasn’t it?” Sansa cried out.

The King paused abruptly in his steps.

“Arya killed Cersei. She was here. In my quarters. With Nymeria. I thought it all a dream. That cloth must be hers. She left it for me to find so I would know it was all real. To know that she was real.”

A moment of silence passed before he replied with icy bitterness, “Arya is gone. It’s only us now. Winter is here. I will do all in my power to ensure we survive it.”

He turned his face to the side and added, “I trust you to do the same.”

“Jon… Jon! Wait!” She called out to him, but he had already thrust open the door, walking briskly out of her chambers, Ghost slinking away quietly after him.

The door slammed shut, and she was left alone once more to the silence of her quarters.

A sudden rush of wind howled against her window, causing the pane to shake itself off its latch and slam open, its wooden frame clattering against the wall. The curtains fluttered violently as a flurry of snow blew into the room, dusting the floor white.

Sansa choked on her tears as she collapsed on her side, curling into a tight ball, her bright red hair covering her tear-stained face as she sobbed on the cold snow-covered floor.

* * *

DAENERYS

The Small Council Chamber was deathly silent despite it being the middle of the day. The heavy oaken doors dulled the sounds of the passersby in the corridors, and with the heavy snow, Dany did not think there would be too many people about at this time.

The Queen stood off to the side, gazing up at the stained-glass window depicting her House’s sigil of the red three-headed dragon illuminated by the muted sunlight of the wintery day.

She heard the sound of the oaken door creak open and closed followed by the sound of soft slippers on the marble floor.

 Dany turned around to find the Spider bowing his head low to her.

“Your Grace.”

Dany nodded to him, “Lord Varys.”

Then seeing as he was the only one who entered, a frown settled on the Queen’s brows, “Where is my Lord Hand?”

The Spider smiled simply, “Lord Tyrion sends his regrets… he is otherwise, indisposed.”

“Still drinking himself to a stupor?” The Queen commented as she gritted her teeth, “There is a realm to unite and my Lord Hand remains deep into his cups.”

“Grief is not a state that is easily overcome in a fortnight, Your Grace, but if you wish it, I can send for him.” Lord Varys suggested, motioning to the door.

“No. That won’t be necessary, Lord Varys.” The Queen responded with a wave of her hand, “Perhaps it’s better my Lord Hand is not present as I have a few queries that I had hoped you could answer for me, privately.”

Dany swept the ends of her dark russet colored gown back as she moved towards her seat at the end of the long table. The long-embroidered sleeves of her dress draped over her hands and a silver dragon brooch gleamed at the center of her high neckline. Her long silver hair was kept neatly in intricate braids that were woven together and gathered at the base of her neck.

“How can I serve, my Queen?” Lord Varys asked as he took a seat next to her.

She took her time before she spoke, her brows furrowed as she tried to find the right words to say, “My lord husband, Jon Snow. Do you know why he left the Night’s Watch? He was Lord Commander, was he not?”

Her Master of Whisperers nodded, “He was.”

“What do you know of his desertion?” She asked, her amethyst eyes holding him in her steel, steady gaze.

“Very little. The birds sing only of whispers and… idle rumors.” The Spider was never one to unveil his emotions or thoughts so plainly on his face but the slight hesitation in his voice caught the Queen’s attention.

“Speak plainly to me, Lord Varys. I do not care for cumbersome metaphors... or lies.” Dany stated firmly.

Lord Varys gave a slow bow of his head and continued, “If what I hear is true, Jon Snow intended to bring the wildlings south of the Wall. The reasoning for such is unclear. Some say it was to help Stannis Baratheon fight the Boltons so he could take Winterfell. Others say he had brokered a treaty with their King-Beyond-the Wall, Mance Raydar. A few whisper of far more ominous threats looming North of the Wall. Whatever the reasoning may be, the decision to do so was not widely accepted by his men in the Night’s Watch who had been fighting the wildlings for centuries.”

Lord Varys paused, clearing his throat, “It is said that there was a mutiny. Jon Snow was stabbed to death by his own sworn brothers but was brought back to life by the Lady Melisandre, Stannis’ red priestess. Since the Night’s Watch vows last till their death, his Watch ended. When his sister escaped Winterfell and sought refuge at Castle Black, they both decided to ride south of the Wall, rally their supporters and take back their home. The rest... I'm sure Your Grace already knows.”

Dany sat very still for a brief moment before she leaned back in her chair.

The Spider tilted his head, smiling slightly, “I assume the King has shared his story with you already. Did he not?”

"What my lord husband shares with me is not for your ears, my Lord Spider.” Dany responded simply, her arms resting on the chair’s sides.

Lord Varys hid his disappointment with a soft chuckle, “Of course, Your Grace. I was simply making an observation.”

“I care little for your observations. But I do care about the whispers your little birds are singing. Specifically about what’s North of the Wall.”

“North of the Wall?”

“Yes.” Dany answered, “Tell me what you’ve heard.”

Dany felt a tightness in her throat as she prepared herself for what she was about to hear.

Lord Varys sighed, “Again, not much to say, Your Grace. Just tales of legend that are easily exaggerated with the coming of Winter. Dead men walking and killing the living, mutilated bodies forming grotesque symbols in the snow, an army of undead commanded by ‘The Others’, as the smallfolk call them, who come when the Long Night and the dark of Winter settles upon the land.”

“And do you believe them? These stories?” She asked as her fingers tightened around the chair’s handles.

“I don’t believe it matters if I believe it, Your Grace. What matters is if _you_ do.” Lord Varys responded in a curious tone, “Might I ask what interests Your Grace so much in these matters?”

Keeping her face expressionless, Dany considered for a moment telling him the truth, after all he was her Master of Whisperers. There was nothing that she knew that he did not already know. Yet, it was that fact that made her even more wary about trusting him.

Dany slowly exhaled and said calmly, “It interests me because it interests my husband.”

“I see.” His beady eyes narrowed at her as she sidestepped his question.

Dany cleared her throat as she continued, “I must also let you know. The King in the North and I are to set sail for Dragonstone in a few days.”

“To what end?” He asked.

Dany gave him a forced small smile, “Is it such an awful thing for a Queen to visit her ancestral home?”

But his expression was somber as he replied, “I do not think it wise for the King Consort and the Queen to be leaving the Capitol at this time, particularly with so much unrest...”

“Unrest?” The Queen asked, her eyes narrowing.

Lord Varys sighed, “Yes, Your Grace. A new Faith Militant is rising as a response of those who follow the Seven against the worshippers of R’hllor. Red priests and priestesses disappear one night and are found dead the next day, the Seven Pointed Scar carved on their bruised and beaten bodies. In response, the Red Temple has been burning heretics as offerings to their Lord of Light.”

“Furthermore,” he continued, “The Houses of the Westerlands beg Your Grace to call back the Dothraki to King’s Landing. They continue to terrorize the smallfolk, stealing their crops, burning their homes, taking women and children from their homes. There is also talk of small rebel groups forming across the Seven Kingdoms spreading propaganda of their malcontent with having the Mad King’s daughter and her foreign armies ruling over them. And..."

“And? There’s more?”

Lord Varys gave a sad nod, “Unfortunately, so. This one pertains to the dragons.”

From underneath his sleeve, the Spider pulled out a small scroll, offering it to his Queen. Dany reached across the table to receive it.

“The raven arrived with this report just this morning, Your Grace.” Lord Varys stated as Dany unfurled the damp parchment.

Her eyes scanned through the words quickly.

_Dragons spotted flying north of Duskendale...Village of twenty... houses razed to the ground... livestock eaten... three dead... a boy of ten and two..._

Dany didn’t bother finishing the note as she crumpled it into her hands.

She closed her eyes. It was as if she was still in Meereen. She remembered the blackened bones that lay before her feet, the gasping sobs of the mourning father, the look of horror on the faces of those present.

“Would it be possible to convene the Small Council to discuss these matters?” She asked as she opened her eyes and glanced at her Master of Whisperers.

“Both Lady Olenna and Princess Arianne are in their homelands overseeing the preparations for Winter, Your Grace. Captain Greyjoy has gone back to the Iron Islands as well, it seems some of her men have returned to their Old Ways and she has sailed back to deal with them. While Lord Tyrion--”

He was interrupted by the screech of her chair against the marble floor as she stood abruptly from her seat. The heels of her boots clicked rapidly as she walked away from the table, her hands balled into fists.

“You mean to tell me that in this most crucial time, half of my Small Council are not within the Capitol and I am absent a capable Hand as well?” She seethed as she walked around the Small Council table.

“Which is why I beg Your Grace to reconsider leaving for Dragonstone.” He asserted quickly, “Whatever it is that the King in the North may have told you about what he’s seen beyond the Wall would have to wait.”

Daenerys turned slowly to face him, her amethyst eyes suspicious and hard, “What makes you think that our intentions at Dragonstone has anything to do with what’s beyond the Wall?”

There was a look of surprise on the Spider’s face before it quickly melted into a calm smile, “Your Grace, I wouldn’t be a very good spymaster if I failed to notice the King ordering his men to load pickaxes and wheelbarrows on to the ships for the mining of ‘dragonglass’, did I say that right? I’ve heard that Dragonstone harbors a mountain of it somewhere on the island and I made the assumption that that must be the cause for your visit. Especially since Your Grace was suddenly so keen about the whispers North of the Wall.”

Dany said nothing. Her intuition was right, there really was nothing to be hidden from someone like Lord Varys. But that did not change how she felt about trusting him. The eunuch had his little birds scattered everywhere. Though he had sworn to serve her and her alone, she wondered how many of his birds kept their watchful eyes on her. The very thought shook her to her core. Vulnerability was not a feeling she enjoyed, it strode too close to weakness and weakness... was not something she could ever tolerate.

“Unless... I am mistaken?” Lord Varys offered with a small smile.

“No.” Dany admitted, “You are not.”

The smile on his face remained, “Then shall I send for your Small Council and arrange a meeting in a week’s time?”

Dany thought of Meereen once again, of the advisors who sat around her large alabaster table, arguing over her as her city burned from the fires caused by the Sons of the Harpy. She remembered their pleas, their admonishments, their constant wrangling. She remembered being asked to lock away her dragons, bargain with the good Masters, open the fighting pits to appease the people.

But then she remembered her final response.

Her advisors were nothing more than a gaggle of headless chickens, pulling her this way and that, weaving words that they had hoped would sway her heart. She did not capitulate to their wills then, she would not do so now. All her advisors, whether in Essos or Westeros, were the same, all wanting the same thing from her. But Dany swore to herself, she would rather die than be brought to her knees by the whims of small minds.

_I promised Fire and Blood... I will not bend!_

“There is no need to call for them, my Lord.” Dany’s voice was firm and resolute as she laid a hand on one of the chairs around the table, “I know what needs to be done.”

“Your Grace?” He asked, a slight frown forming on his thin brows.

Dany lifted her head, “I have no intention of imprisoning or chaining my children. They are dragons. This land is theirs as much as it is mine and dragons take what they want. But for the villages they have decimated, I will ensure the families suffering are rightfully compensated and given what they are due. I, unfortunately, have no power to raise their dead back to life but I can ensure the ones living are not left forsaken in the cold.”

“I will not stand for rebellions or uprisings while I reign. The Sons of the Harpy thought they could overthrow me, but they failed. Find out who leads these rebel groups and burn them at the stake. Send their burnt heads to King’s Landing and put them on spikes for all to see. As for the Dothraki, I am their Khaleesi. They rode on wooden horses across the poison water for me, no one else. I will not deny them their spoils. But I will see to it that they are well-provided for in the hopes that this staves off their need to reave and rape their way across the Westerlands.”

As she spoke, the Queen slowly walked around the table until she came close to Lord Varys’ chair.

“The quarrel between the two faiths bring nothing but more misery to the people in this city. Send the silver cloaks to capture suspected instigators on both sides and have them chained in the Dragonpit. Perhaps their corpses can sate my children’s appetites enough to keep them from destroying more villages.”

She could not decipher the look in Varys’ eyes but she knew that he was not pleased with what she had said.

“Your silence is intriguing, my lord. Do you disapprove of my decisions? Or perhaps you paid little attention and wish me to repeat my commands.” She asked sardonically as she folded her hands together in front of her.

“Are there to be no trials, Your Grace? No investigations or inquiries into any of these matters?” He asked her directly.

“Trials and inquiries do nothing but confuse and delay what is inevitable. I would rather justice be executed swiftly and terribly rather than waiting until more people die because we waited too long to respond.” Dany answered without hesitation, “Besides, my Lord Spider, this is where your capabilities as my Master of Whisperers are brought to task. Ensure that your birds peck out the guilty ones and we’d have no problems at all. Otherwise, should innocents die, the blame would rest at your feet, not mine.”

Dany noticed his nostrils flare slightly as he looked up at her. She matched his gaze for a moment before she moved past him and turned towards the mosaic windows of the Small Council Chamber. She folded her arms across her chest as she watched the snow fall behind the translucent red panes.

“If it is your will...”

“It is.” came her quick response, “Ensure you see it done.”

“And what of your Small Council? Shall they have no say in the matter?”

Dany sighed with quiet frustration, the glare on her brow deepening, “If my Small Council objects to my decisions, they can find me at Dragonstone where I will hold court with my lord husband by my side.”

“I wonder if Your Grace places more trust in her Northerner King than in her own advisors. I do not recall his word holding any authority when Your Grace took the throne.”

At this, she turned around to look at him. The question was bordering on impertinent but she let it stand.

“He is still a King and he is my husband. Is there any reason why I should not trust him?” She asked.

He tilted his head, “Tell me truly, my Queen, did you trust any of your previous husbands with all your heart?”

She swallowed hard, turning her eyes away.

_I trusted Drogo… towards the end…_

Dany inhaled deeply as she pushed back memories of her first husband from her thoughts.

“I would rather we talk of the future than the past, Lord Varys.” Dany answered back stiffly as she moved back towards her chair.

 _“_ I concur. As you say, there is a realm to unite. Which makes me wonder if the King in the North’s endeavor is something that will move us closer to that goal or disrupt it entirely.”

“He only seeks the protection and welfare of his people. It is no different to what I want for my own.” She replied as she down once more.

“The Seven Kingdoms are all _your_ people, Your Grace. But the North has always been unpredictable, the people more so.”

Dany took a breath, “My family has ruled this land for generations. Since Torrhen Stark bent the knee, the North has always submitted to the dragons.”

Varys hummed slightly, his expression contemplative, “Until they rebelled. Jon Snow may not be a trueborn son of House Stark, but Eddard Stark was still his father.”

“You think my lord husband a traitor, Lord Varys?” Daenerys asked heatedly.

“I think the King in the North is not who he seems to be.” Varys answered her grimly, “Think of the people he has as his allies. His former sworn brothers are comprised of nothing more than thieves and rapists. Wildlings and giants, enemies of the realm for far longer than we can know, answer to him. The Arryns and Tullys fought alongside Robert Baratheon during the rebellion. Who knows what Jon Snow and his own advisors have planned now that Winter has come? Winter is for the wolves, my Queen, as it has always been.”

“Jon Snow knows what would happen if he or his sister attempt to jeopardize the alliance we created through our marriage. I vowed to bring Fire and Blood to Westeros when I left Meereen, the North can taste that promise if the snows don’t bury them first.” Dany said as she tried to keep her emotions in check.

“The Northerners have weathered snows of all kinds before.” The Spider pointed out, his voice silky and glib, “But this is first time one of their own has married a dragon. The people of the North have always been suspicious of those unfamiliar with their lands and customs. They are slow to trust and their loyalty is even slower to gain.”

“I am still their Queen.” Dany stated, though she noticed a lump form in her throat.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Lord Varys agreed, “But perhaps they will be easier to appease once we have an heir.”

_An heir…_

The look he gave her made Dany’s blood run cold. Her fingers trembling as she gripped her chair.

_He knows... gods... he knows..._

Dany didn’t know how many people knew about her curse. She had only confided her secret to those who had earned her trust..

_Irri... Jhiqui... Doreah... Missandei... Ser Jorah... Tyrion... Jon Snow..._

But there was no doubt in her mind that Lord Varys must have found out some way or other. As she had already known long ago when she brought him in to her service, it was his skills and connections that made him both useful and dangerous to her.

Lord Varys went on, “After all, to have a son with the blood of the First Men and of Old Valyria is an unprecedented blessing. It would be exactly what we need to ensure the unity of all Seven Kingdoms. Don’t you think so, Your Grace?”

She swallowed hard as she held his gaze.

“Your Grace?”

“See to it that my commands are carried out. I will stay a few days more in the Capitol to ensure they’ve been done. That will be all, Lord Varys.” Her words, sharp and terse.

“Forgive me if I--”

“That... will be all.” She repeated, each word laced with stern severity. There was a shine of tears in her eyes as she stared intensely at her Master of Whisperers.

Slowly he bowed his head low to her before he rose from his seat and took his leave.

“Your Grace.” He said simply, before he turned towards the door.

When the heavy door had closed shut behind him, Dany let out a shaky gasp of air, as if she had been holding in her breath until the Spider had left her presence. She ran a hand over her mouth as she took several deep breaths.

She pressed her thumbnail against her teeth as she stared at the door.

Their conversation had left her more shaken and weighed on her more heavily than she had expected. She had received some answers but felt that she was given even more questions.

Dany knew that Varys was an adept player at the game of politics that she never had the patience or fortitude to learn. But she was not a naïve little girl anymore, and she tried to push away the emotions that he had stirred within her.

But despite her better judgment, Varys had succeeded in one aspect at least.

She rested a hand on her stomach, feeling it churn with anxiety.

_I can’t give my lord husband a son… I can’t give anyone a son… what if he decides to go North and take a Northern girl or even another wildling girl as his Queen?_

Dany knew how nonsensical her thoughts were. She had her armies, she had her dragons, she had Seven Kingdoms… or at least most of them who would pledge their sword to her.

She had nothing to fear.

_Or do I?_

The dragons were her children, her only children. They were her heirs. But dragons can’t sit on thrones or Small Council meetings. Dragons can’t pass laws or manage rebellions.

_Dragons don’t plant trees…_

Dany closed her eyes, taking a calming breath.

_I am Queen. I must rule until my last breath. I am the last daughter of my House. I cannot fail them now._

She felt tears surge up behind her eyes and Dany fought against them.

Dany pushed her chair back as she stood up and composed herself. Running a hand through her hair and tugging on the sleeves of her gown.

Why was she even allowing herself such fantasies? There were more important matters to attend to. Present issues that demanded her attention.

Lifting her head, she made her way to the door of the Small Council Chambers and pulled it open to find Ser Barristan and the rest of her Queensguard awaiting her outside.

 

\----

_A few nights later…_

Dany’s eyes slowly fluttered open as she stirred from her restless dreams.

Her bare body was covered halfway with a heavy, woolen blanket, the upper side of her back tingled from the cold draft inside the bedchambers.

She was lying on her stomach, her tousled silver hair splayed across the dark maroon sheets of the bed.

She heard the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth as her eyes adjusted to the dim candle-lit lighting of the room.

Dany noticed her husband was gone from her side once more except this time, she knew why.

She heard the sound of boots walking into the room and she considered getting up, but decided instead to turn her head to the direction of the sound.

As she did, she was greeted by the sight of dark red eyes peering calmly down at her.

Dany gave a drowsy smile as she reached out to the giant direwolf, lightly stroking the snow-white fur on his head. She noticed dried blood on Ghost’s jaws and surmised that he had probably just came from a hunt.

“Ghost.” Her husband’s soft voice called out.

The direwolf stayed a moment longer before he turned and walked away from her touch. Ghost settled in front of the hearth and lay down in front of it, resting his head on his large paws.

Dany moved her eyes towards her husband, he was already clad in his heavy wolf-pelted cloak and dressed in travelling gear, reading a small note. Though he was absent any armor or weapons, he still looked every bit the Northern King as he stood beside the fire.

“Were you going to leave without kissing your wife goodbye?” She asked in a low voice as she shifted in the bed, sitting up slowly, the blanket dipping to her waist, her silver hair barely covering her breasts.

He smiled softly at her as he folded the small parchment in his hands and lay it on the table.

“And risk your wrath?” He responded as he turned towards her, “Never.”

Jon walked towards her and sat next to her on the edge of the bed. He reached out a hand to her face and Dany leaned into his warm touch, covering his hand with her own.

“Is it dawn already?” She asked softly, her eyes regarding his attire.

“Not yet. But I need to ensure everything is in order before I take my leave.”

She nodded with understanding.

“Are you certain you don’t want me to stay in the Capitol with you?” He questioned, concern in his brows.

She shook her head slowly, “I’ve already sent word to Maester Pylos to expect you and your men. If what you’ve told me was true, you cannot delay on account of me. Besides, it will take you a few days to sail to Dragonstone. I, however, can fly there with my children. If the winds are not kind to you, we may probably reach the island before you do.”

Despite her small jest, the somber look in his eyes remained, “Then let me at least leave Ghost with you.”

Dany chuckled softly, “My love, I’ve been in far more dangerous circumstances before I met you. I have my Queensguard, my Unsullied and the silver cloaks. More protection than even your direwolf, monstrous as he is, can provide.”

“Aye, but things are different, now. You’re my wife, my Queen.” He responded, his thumb brushing her cheek, “What kind of husband would I be if I left you alone?”

“A good one.” She said with a small smile, “As you say, I am your Queen and as Queen, my duties prevent me from being you for just a little while.”

Jon nodded with resignation as he moved his hand down on the sheet beside her.

“I’ve arranged for Grey Worm and some of the Unsullied to accompany you to Dragonstone.” She stated as she brushed a strand of dark hair away from his face.

Jon frowned, “You won’t let me leave Ghost with you and yet you’re sending the Commander of your Unsullied to accompany me?”

Dany heard the defensive tone in his voice and she gave a soft sigh, “You mistake my intentions, my lord husband. Dragonstone is garrisoned with a few of my Unsullied soldiers. Though I know you and your men to be quite capable of holding your own should anything dire occur, I doubt any of you are well-versed in High Valyrian. Should you be in need of my men, you need someone there who speaks their tongue. Grey Worm has been learning the Common Tongue fairly quickly, thanks to Missandei. He will be of use to you when you reach Dragonstone.”

Yet as Dany spoke, she couldn’t help but feel that her words had not provided the comfort she thought it would nor did it settle her own feelings of uncertainty.

The words of the Spider from a few days before floated through her head.

“Yet... there’s more to it, isn’t there?” Jon asked, his dark grey eyes peering intently into her own amethyst ones.

Dany swallowed and she forced a small smile, “We can speak of it another time.”

“If this is about what Lord Varys told you…” He started.

Dany shook her head, “No, of course not. Whatever his intentions may be, nothing he can say will dissuade me from trusting you.”

She remembered the look on his face when she had spoken to him about her conversation with her Master of Whisperers in the Small Council Chambers. His face was livid as he listened to her and he had nearly stormed from her room to seek out the Spider before Dany stopped him.

“Unless, there is something more you haven’t yet shared with me?” Dany asked, the old fear that she had felt back in the Small Council chambers remained in her heart.

Jon circled his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him, his wolf pelt tickled her bare skin as she laid her hand on his chest, her fingers brushing the dark woolen gambeson he wore.

“I’ve revealed my entire life to you, my Queen.” He murmured as he rested his forehead against hers, “You know the demons that haunt my dreams. You know what dwells at the forefront of my thoughts, each and every moment.”

She nodded slowly, “The Others… the dead men… a Great war to fight.”

Dany knew the tone in her voice betrayed and when she moved her amethyst eyes to meet his own stormy grey ones, she knew he heard it too.

“Yet you still have reason to doubt what I’ve said?” He asked, his brow furrowing as he leaned back.

Dany exhaled slowly as she fidgeted with the fur of his cloak, “What you’ve told me about them, it’s not an easy thing to hear much less believe. But… I’ve seen so many impossible things come true before.  These last few years has been nothing but one impossible thing after another. Dragons reborn into the world, magic and prophecies, a Northerner for a husband.”

At her last statement, Jon managed a smile but it lingered only briefly on his lips, “But it isn’t enough to convince you?”

“Because it is not just me you have to convince.” Dany responded firmly, “This country has suffered greatly these past few years and they will continue to suffer as the Winter storms worsen. If I have to call my armies to march North, I have to ensure the rest of the Kingdoms won’t fall apart in my absence. Already I have uprisings to quell and it has only been less than half a year since I took the throne.”

She felt his hold on her loosen but she kept her fingers on the soft pelt around his shoulders.

“It seems the most difficult fight ahead isn’t with the Others after all.”  Jon noted, his jaw tensing, “If and when they do get past the Wall, and they will, there will be no future for any of us. Houses and holdfasts and thrones will mean nothing if we are all dead.”

“And what if we live?” Dany countered, “What if we fight and we defeat them? What then? If I’ve learned anything about people, it’s that they don’t change. In the face of fear and danger, yes, we can all band together to survive. But once it’s all said and done, when peace comes with the spring, so do traitors and thieves, intent on taking everything from us.”

Jon moved his hands to cup her face, the light from the fireplace glinting in his dark grey eyes, “Then we take the heads off every last one of them. Every last one.”

Dany couldn’t help but give him a wry smile, “Strange how not so long ago it was I who wanted to destroy those who would stand against us and you were the one cautioning me against it.”

“If we do survive, I see no reason for anyone to want to take your crown or mine. We would have saved them all, what cause would they have to turn against us?”

She felt her lip tremble as she met his gaze. She couldn’t bring herself to say it. But understanding registered in his eyes and he murmured,

“A child.”

Dany felt the tears rise up to her eyes as her fingers tightened around his shoulders, “Not just any child. A son. The heir to my House and to the throne. If Varys knows I can’t bear you children, who knows how long until others find out and use it against us? To tear us apart? I told you the day after we were wed that this will be the weak link of our reign and our marriage.”

Jon shook his head, “You don’t know... you can’t know yet that you are unable to bear a child.”

At this, Dany glared at him dropping her hands, “Almost three moons have passed since our wedding night. How many of those nights have we lain with each other? Still my moon blood comes and I am without child.”

“I know nothing about bearing children but it may yet be too soon to tell.” He tried to say but she moved away from his touch and pulled the blanket over her chest protectively, pulling her legs towards her chest as she rested her chin on her knees.

She couldn’t bear to listen any longer as she turned her face away from him.

A light knock at the door resounded, breaking the silence between them. Dany closed her eyes as she felt his weight lift from the bed. She heard him walk out of the bedchambers into his solar. She listened as he opened the door, the sound of Ser Davos’ familiar brogue and her husband’s terse responses soon followed. The door then shut closed and his heavy footsteps returned to the room.

She could feel his eyes on her and she swallowed back the tears that threatened to fall.

“The ship is ready to depart.” His voice was guarded and low, “Would it please Your Grace if I could bid my wife farewell?”

“Farewell.” She murmured into her skin, still refusing to look up at him.

There was a moment of silence and she wondered if he had gone. But then she heard the sound of his boots on the floor and suddenly felt herself pulled to the edge of the bed by two strong arms.

Before she could speak, a hand grabbed her jaw and his lips fell on hers in an instant.

As if on instinct, she opened her mouth up to him as her fingers raked through his thick hair. HIs hand pushed the coverlet aside and brought her naked body to press up against him.

His hands roamed her skin, until his palm found her breast and kneaded it between his fingers.

She moaned against his lips and felt an ache between her thighs that cried out for him.

His tongue sought out hers and he sucked on it fiercely, muffling her wanton sighs. She pushed herself on to him, her hand holding onto his neck for support.

But before she could deepen the kiss further, he slowly pulled back from her. Their breaths warm against each other’s skin as they panted heavily. Both their eyes opened at the same time as they gazed at each other.

His steel grey eyes were filled with dark desire as he looked at her. The both of them were well aware of the fact that if they didn’t stop now, there would be no end to this until he had stripped all of his travelling clothes off and got back into bed with her.

But there was no time and there was still much left unsaid.

"Did I not say that I would not risk taking my leave without kissing my wife goodbye?” Although she knew that he meant it in jest, the gravity of his tone seemed to say otherwise.

She nodded as she caressed his face, swallowing the lump in her throat, “You did.”

He grabbed her wrist gently, “ _You_ are all that I need. Whatever it is that lies ahead, we will both face it. Together.”

Dany was bereft of words and simply managed another nod instead as she felt the sting of her tears in her eyes. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his lips next to her ear.

“I want you to know that I do not consider this conversation over. I know you do not wish to speak of it, but it must be discussed, for both our sakes. As for convincing the Lords and Ladies of the Seven Kingdoms to band together for the Great War, perhaps Dragonstone may hold the answer.”

She lay her head against his neck, breathing in his familiar scent, half regretting her decision to stay behind. As much as she wanted to deny it, she did not wish to see her husband go.

They held on to each other for a moment, resting in the silence of their embrace.

Dany was the first to lift her head and gently pushed him back, “Your men are waiting. You should leave before the snows fall again.”

“Aye.” He answered gruffly.

Jon released her slowly as he straightened up adjusting the straps of his cloak.

 Ghost moved from his spot by the fire and came to Jon’s side. The direwolf’s red eyes stared at her and she gave him a brief smile that quickly dissipated as she watched Ghost slink away, past her husband.

“I will send a raven once I’ve reached Dragonstone.” Jon stated.

“You may not need to. I don’t believe I will remain long here.”

Jon nodded before he bowed his head low, “Until your arrival then, Your Grace.”

“Until my arrival... my lord husband.” Dany responded warmly, her amethyst eyes carrying words she couldn’t say.

He stayed for a breath before he turned and disappeared through the door. Dany bit her lip to keep from calling out for him to return to her. It didn’t take long till she heard the door open and shut close, and his footsteps faded behind it.

Dany took a slow deep breath. The seeds of doubt planted by the Spider remained entrenched in her mind.

_Can I trust him? Or will he betray me too?_

She lay her head back down upon her pillow and felt a streak of wetness escape the side of her eyes. Her hand instinctively moved to her stomach, feeling the faded marks that reminded her of the son she had lost. She remembered what it was like to carry his life inside of her and how empty she had felt when she had awoken from her cursed dreams to find him gone.

_Rhaego... My son... My little boy..._

Dany curled up under her covers as she turned to her side, her eyes staring at the fireplace watching the flames dance against the walls.

_Only death pays for life..._

Her dragons were born through the blood of Drogo and her son. Dany wondered if she had been given the choice to go back, would she have chosen her dragons over the family that she would have had?

She birthed her dragons through fire, could the fire provide her with the children she so desperately wanted? What lives would she be willing to take, what price would she need to pay?

The questions rushed through her mind and Dany nearly screamed to shut them out.

Too exhausted to lecture herself or conjure up statements to hinder her pain, the Queen buried her face against the sheets that still bore her husband’s scent. Hugging her knees to her chest, she allowed herself a moment of unrestrained vulnerability as she finally released her tears.

Already she ached for him, the taste of him still burning on her lips, the shadow of his touch haunting her skin.

Yet there was something else that clawed at her heart and for a moment, her thoughts wandered, and she pictured herself carrying a baby boy with silver hair and dark grey eyes. A Prince…. And perhaps even a Princess after him. A little girl with soft brown hair and a smile that could light up a room as she ran to her father’s arms.

Lost in her fantasies, Dany sobbed quietly until the throes of sleep captured her once more, pulling her back into the black darkness of dreamless slumber.

* * *

TYRION

_Clink..._

_Clink..._

_Clink..._

Tyrion leaned his head on his hand as he banged his metal cup monotonously against the side of the wooden table. Empty wine pewters lay scattered on the bare surface, red stains streaked on the ground forming small puddles of spilled wine that dripped from the table. The curtains were drawn and the air was dank with the scent of unchanged sheets and clothes that reeked of sour wine and body odor.

Dirty blonde curls shadowed his glazed, sullen green eyes as Tyrion continued his repetitive action.

He needed more wine. That was one thing he was certain of.

_Clink..._

_Clink..._

_Clink..._

He started to hum a song that he had heard once in a brothel in Volantis before Ser Jorah kidnapped him and taken him to Meereen. The only problem being that the song was in Valyrian and he couldn’t remember the damn lyrics for a start, but the melody remained in his head as he clinked his cup to the rhythm of it.

_Clink..._

_Clink..._

_Clink..._

_Clink..._

Then he stopped as his thoughts suddenly returned to a familiar moment.

_“Do you remember cousin Orson... and the beetles?”_

_Klunk..._

_Klunk..._

_Klunk..._

_“You think I give a flying fuck about that dumbfuck cousin of ours?”_

Tyrion sighed and shut his eyes. Jaime’s voice was in his head once again and he longed to be rid of it lest the memory threw him back to another abyss of pitiful despair... and he had grown tired of retching his guts out every night.

_“Do you know why he did it? Why he killed them all?”_

Tyrion didn’t know. To those questions, he had no answer. His mind was a desert, muddled with old recollections, faded images, distant voices.

_I’m like her now... the last of my House..._

_Who would think that the last Lannister... would be the dwarf?_

Tyrion gave a maddening laugh as he threw his head back. The very thought of it was too steeped in comical irony that it was a crime to not laugh at all. He only wished his father were alive to see what had become of his precious legacy.

Their lands trampled underneath the hooves of the horselords, all Lannisters slaughtered, the smallfolk of the Westerlands suffering under their _arakhks,_ while his sister’s head remained frozen atop a spike that still hung in the middle of the city square. His brother’s golden hand was up there as well, to be gawked at by passerbys... but at least it wasn’t his head.

Tyrion thought about his Queen. Daenerys Stormborn. The Mother of Dragons. The Breaker of Chains.

How she sat stoic and severe upon her mare as she watched his homeland burn. Her dragons flying overhead. Their winged shadows passing over the fiery fields.

 _Was Varys right?_ He thought, _Was supporting Daenerys to take back the throne a mistake?_

In his heart, he knew it wasn’t. Despite her ruthlessness and her predilection for burning her enemies rather than imprisoning them, she was still a better Queen than his mad sister. He also knew there was never any hope for his brother or his sister. Daenerys had no intention of keeping his siblings hostage, as she told him in the throne room, death would have come to them one way or another.

He groaned as he pushed away these thoughts. Forcing his mind to make up lyrics to the song that he started to hum once more.

_More wine... to pass the time ... I have to know... where dead whores go..._

Just when he made the decision to call a guard or a servant to fetch him more jugs of wine, the door to his quarters swung open. Tyrion lifted up his bleary, inebriated eyes to find the Spider standing at the doorway.

“My Lord Hand.”

Varys’ eyes scanned the room and a look of faint disgust crossed his face as his nose scrunched.

“You’re not even going to fucking knock anymore? I don’t recall sharing this room with you. There’s only one bed, after all.” Tyrion murmured sardonically.

Lord Varys gave him an unamused look, “If I bothered to knock, you would have yelled for one of your guards to send me away or you wouldn’t have answered the door at all. Far be it from me to waste my time or yours.”

Tyrion set down his empty wine cup on the table.

“What do you want?” He sighed deeply as he glanced at his visitor.

The Spider cleared his throat, his hands clasped in front of him hidden underneath the billowy sleeves of his silken robe, “The King in the North has departed for Dragonstone. The Queen has called for the heads of those starting rebellions and the Dothraki have been pulled back from the Westerlands and are making their way back to the Crownlands.”

Tyrion sniffed and ran down his untrimmed beard as he responded, “Thank you for pointing out the obvious, my Lord Spider. I’ve known all of this since this morning but please do carry on. I would love to hear about more things I am already well aware of.”

“Last I recalled, Tyrion Lannister was still Hand of the Queen.” Varys stated pointedly.

“Last _I_ recalled, these were still _my_ quarters and you have no reason to be in here.” A loud belch escaped Tyrion’s lips, tasting of soured wine and bile.

Varys sighed, “The Queen will need her Hand by her side in the coming days. When she follows after her husband, who do you think will be running the Capitol in her stead?”

“You? Ser Barristan? Does it look like it fucking matters to me who sits on the fucking chair that no longer exists?” Tyrion answered as he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It should matter because someone needs to take control of this city that’s breaking apart at the seams.” Lord Varys said as he walked casually towards the table, gingerly stepping over strewn clothes and items on the ground.

“You think that’s me?” Tyrion asked with a wry smile, “I don’t think I’m fit to be anything to anybody at the moment.”

The Spider frowned at him as he took a seat across from Tyrion, “You pretend to be this drunken, grieving recluse suffering from his woeful circumstances and yet I know you’ve been to see Lady Sansa Stark only a few days ago.”

Tyrion shrugged, “I thought she could use some of my company, given the fact that she’s been stuck in her own prison of sorts.”

“Was there any fruit to the _company_ you both shared?” Lord Varys asked with a lifted eyebrow.

Tyrion laughed again, “My dear Varys, if you thought that Sansa Stark would open her legs to me, charming as I am, I would say your skill in deducing people’s characters is waning with your age.”

Varys was unamused, “That was the furthest thing from my mind, my Lord Hand. My skill and age should be the least of your worries.”

“Oh, and I suppose you’re here to tell me what I _should_ be worried about?” Tyrion said rolling his eyes, “Varys, if we’re going to spend the rest of this time talking, maybe you can be useful and call for some more wine. Speaking with you can turn even the best whore’s cunt dry.”

“You won’t need wine for what we are about to discuss. Believe me, I won’t take long.” Varys remarked.

Tyrion rubbed his brow and groaned, indicating his hand towards the gaping doorway, “Is that why you didn’t even bother to shut the door?”

“I didn’t bother to shut the door because there is someone I’ve brought to see you.”

Tyrion creased his brow as he sat up straighter in his seat, “Who?”

Varys craned his neck towards the door and called, “You may come in and shut the door when you do.”

A hefty young woman clothed in a thick, rugged woolen cloak came In. Her curly brown hair hidden underneath her hood, her head bowed low. In her arms she carried a bundle close to her chest. She closed the door behind her as instructed.

“My lady.” Tyrion greeted.

The women’s eyes widened, “I ain’t no lady, m'lord.”

“This is Delia, my Lord Hand. She’s a wet nurse.” Varys explained.

Tyrion turned his curious eyes to the Spider, “A wet nurse? Why do I need to see a wet nurse?”

Varys nodded to Delia and the woman nodded and came towards Tyrion holding out the bundle she carried towards him.

“It’s not Delia who is here to see you.” Varys said plainly.

In her arm wrapped in roughspun blankets was a sleeping baby with hair the color of fresh, golden hay. Tyrion felt sobriety hit him like a hard slap to the face as the woman carefully passed the child to him.

His mouth hung open as he stared down at the baby in his arms, for once he was at a loss for words.

“Who…who…?”

Yet somehow he knew. He knew deep in his heart who it was despite his mind telling him it wasn’t possible.

_No… it can’t… how can it…_

“I present to you your niece, Lord Tyrion. The daughter of Queen Cersei Lannister and her twin brother, the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister.”

She was still sleeping soundly in his arms, her small eyes closed as she breathed in and out.

Cersei had never let him close to any of her children when they were babes, in fear that he would harm them in some way. He watched as Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen grew up from a distance. He had always wondered what it would be like to have held one of them this way. Emotion bubbled up in his throat as he looked down at the sleeping babe.

 “She has yet to be named. Delia has taken to calling her Goldie for her hair, but I thought it fair that it be her last living relative in the world to bequeath her true name.”

Varys words seemed to float through the air around him, hanging high above his head. This was Cersei’s child… this was Jaime’s child… their last one.

When he had last seen his brother, Jaime had mentioned something about Cersei believing that this child would never live because of some cursed prophecy. Yet, somehow, here was their child. Breathing. Alive.

“H-how?” The question barely leaving Tyrion’s lips. The wheels in his mind doing battle with the tug in his heart.

Varys gave him a simpering smile, “Does the reasoning really matter? Your niece escaped the fate that her parents did not. My birds reached her in time before the Stark girl did, that is all you need to know.”

Tyrion could feel his arms start to shake, unaccustomed to carrying the weight for such a lengthy time.

At this, Lord Varys nodded his head again to Delia who came forward to take the child from Tyrion.

“W-wait.” Tyrion stammered, not wanting to release the child back to her wet nurse. She was so small and fragile. Yet, he couldn’t seem to shake off a growing feeling of uneasiness within him.

He looked up at the Spider, his brows furrowing and a dark look crossed his face, “If I didn’t know you any better, Varys, I would think that somehow you’re using me for something. How do I know she’s even really my niece?”

Varys shrugged, “Whether you believe me or not is your choice, my Lord. I’ve held your own shit in the palm of my hands, cleaned up every vile thing you’ve spewed on ships and carriages, sheltered you, fed you, supplied you with copious amounts of wine, and I would have carried you to Daenerys myself if Jorah Mormont hadn’t taken the initiative to do so. My old friend, why in the world would you think any less of me after all we’ve been through?”

Tyrion held the babe closer to his chest, “Because I know you, _old friend_. There’s a price for everything. Bringing Jaime and Cersei’s child to me… what did it cost?”

The rising sound of his voice and the tightening of his hold caused the little one to stir in his arms. Tyrion looked down and tiny pale green eyes looked up at him. Gurgling and fussing, the baby began to wail.

“Lemme take her, m’lord. She’ll be wanting to feed soon.” Delia said, reaching out once more for the babe.

Tyrion felt even more possessive of her but he reluctantly relinquished his hold as Delia took the little one from him. Bouncing the babe up and down while shushing and murmuring to her.

“The Queen will not be happy knowing a child of Cersei Lannister lives and breathes in this world.” The Spider said with a tilt of his bald head.

Tyrion closed his eyes.

_There it is…_

“So you’ll hold my niece as ransom while I help you overthrow the Queen you yourself put on the throne?” Tyrion asked, his lips pressed together.

“I only ask that you do what is right for the realm when the time comes.” Lord Varys answered simply.

“When the time comes.” Tyrion repeated with dripping cynicism as he opened his eyes to glare at Varys, “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean… just as you are not the last living Lannister, Daenerys is _not_ the last dragon.”

It took a moment before Tyrion could understand the words that left the Spider’s lips.

The eunuch continued, “Details can be discussed at a later time. All you must know is that alternative measures have been put into motion. _When_ the time comes, I trust my Lord Hand will do what is right by the realm. For the sake of the people, of the children of the Seven Kingdoms… for the sake of our little Goldie here.”

Tyrion swallowed hard as the Master of Whisperers stood from his seat.

“Unless you managed to miraculously bring people back from the dead, Lord Varys, how could there possibly be another Targaryen alive?”

Varys merely smiled, “As I said, all will be revealed in due time. Now, I suggest that you say your goodbyes to the little one and get yourself cleaned. The Queen will be holding court later in the day and you have your duties to attend to. There is still much to be done, my Lord Hand, and all our struggles will have been for nought if I simply sat back and left you to waste yourself here in this makeshift dungeon of yours.”

The sound of the Spider’s billowing robes brushed past Tyrion as he made his way to the door. Delia had the little blonde-haired babe at her breast as she followed behind him.

“Joanna.”

Tyrion’s voice caused both of his visitors to turn to look at him.

“Her name is Joanna.”

Varys nodded approvingly, “A good name, my Lord Hand. I will ensure little Joanna is kept in the best of care. Perhaps her next visit will be sooner than you think.”

The Spider bowed his head to him as he opened the door. Delia gave a simple curtsey before she tucked the small babe closer to chest and exited the room with him.

Tyrion felt as if they had taken his sanity with them as the door finally shut close and he was left alone once more. Any more thoughts of drowning himself in rich Arbor red had long dissipated from his thoughts.

He pressed a fist to his mouth, breathing hard. His mind turning and an ache in his chest that he had not felt in a long time nearly caused him to turn the table over.

A thousand questions jostled within him.

The game... even after everything.... the great game was still being played and now he was a pawn of it all. A piece of cyvasse moved around a board that he could no longer see.

Tyrion gave a shaky sigh as he closed his eyes once more.

When he did, all he saw were little Joanna’s eyes.... so pure, untainted...

Were those Cersei’s eyes? Or Jaime’s?... Was she even theirs at all?

Tyrion felt his temples start to pulse. He didn’t know what was worse, being sober and feeling like horseshit or being drunk and feeling like horseshit.

At least drunk, he could either sleep or die. 

Death being the preferred course as that meant he didn't have to bother with thirsting for more wine to dull and tame his thoughts anymore. Maybe then, he could finally have some bloody peace. 

But then he remembered the words that he had said to Sansa Stark.

_Sweet children don’t belong in this cruel, merciless world._

Sweet little Joanna, whoever she was, if she truly was Cersei’s daughter, had come into the world at the worst of times. A world of cold and darkness and where beasts of fire roamed the skies.

He would not leave her to the beasts or allow her to become a monster like her mother... or like him.

A monster raising an angel. Who would have thought that would be his fate?

Tyrion clenched his hand as he opened his moss green eyes, which were filled with a dark fire.

If he was going to claim this girl, then she would be his family now. His only family, for better or worse.

She was his little golden cub and the lions always protected their own.

No matter what Varys had in store, Tyrion knew he had to find a way to keep Joanna from him, from the Queen... from all of them.

Whispers of his own words echoed within him as he sank back in his chair.

_After all, there is nothing we won’t do to hold on to what is ours… the things we do for our family…_

_I never bet against family..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wasn't too happy with this chapter but thought I'd upload it anyway. I will be tweaking the Dany and Tyrion POVs a little bit so it may change the next time you read it as it is very rough and unpolished right now.
> 
> I've also done little revisions to past chapters, so might be a good idea to do a reread from the beginning as I did make changes in certain dialogues as well as added and removed stuff.
> 
> I may add notes here in the future should anything come up in questions. I will be changing some parts around as time goes on, so if you spotted something iffy or have a question, please do leave me a comment and I'll respond the best that I can.
> 
> Thank you! <3


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